


Hot and Bothered

by LSfarmwmn



Category: Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 88,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12103599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSfarmwmn/pseuds/LSfarmwmn
Summary: It might be below freezing in Trenton, but the New Year heats up for Stephanie Plum, in more ways than one. After a steamy encounter with the sexy, but aloof, Ranger, he asks her to come to New York City with him on New Year’s Eve to assist with a personal protection job for Rangeman. When the job turns deadly, Steph finds herself in a rare position, saving Ranger’s life instead of the other way around. The aftermath leads them both to reevaluate their relationship, or lack thereof.As if Ranger doesn’t complicate her life enough, Steph must also track down George Fortecelli, who failed to appear for his court hearing on a felony arson charge. The case appears on the fast track to a dead end until things really start to heat up, literally. Steph’s Jeep gets toasted in the mall parking lot, then her apartment goes up in flames. Again.But what is more likely to burn her? Her smoldering feelings for Ranger or the dangerous fire bug out to get her? Babe Fic.





	1. Chapter One

A/N: Disclosure: This story is rated M due to explicit sexual situations.

ONE

I should be used to getting shot at by now. Or at least expect it. But no, as Ralph Cercone hauled a silver Smith and Wesson .45 from his waistband, I dove in surprise behind one of the hedgerows lining the front of his building. A bullet pinged off the concrete where I just stood. My sometimes partner, Lula, dove in the opposite direction. Her neon green mini skirt rode up around her waist, leaving me a clear view of her derriere though her skin tight, black spandex leggings.

Lula was much darker skinned than me, a few inches shorter, a lot of pounds heavier, with much more colorful hair, but that didn't bother her any. She had more self-esteem than most super models, and she let it show, mostly by wearing revealing outfits a few sizes too small and dying her hair from the Crayola collection. Today, her hair glowed a blinding candy cane red, and her ensemble included knee high black leather boots with a four-inch block heel and a pink angora sweater that revealed a mile of cleavage. She used to be a 'ho, but a near-death experience caused her to redirect her life, and now she worked at the bonds office. No one knew exactly what she should do there, so she mostly rode shot-gun for me.

 _BANG!_ Another shot rang out and Lulu shrieked. I saw her leg jerk. My head spun. I didn't want to see the blood.

Wait, there wasn't any blood.

Lula gripped something small and black in her hand, looking royally pissed. "That mo-fo shot the heel off my new Mahalo Blonik look-a-like boots."

Uh oh. This wouldn't end well for Ralph.

Lula reached into her gigantic hobo purse and hauled out a nickel-plated Glock. She leveled it at Ralph's house and released a spray of bullets. The living room window shattered, glass flying everywhere. I glimpsed Ralph dive for cover behind his sofa.

I scrambled for my car, which sat peacefully undisturbed at the curb. Laying down cover fire, Lula limped after me. I wrenched open the door of the powder blue monstrosity currently on loan from my Grandma Mazur and threw myself into the driver's seat. Jamming the key into the ignition, I prayed Big Blue would turn over on the first try. The old girl didn't care much for the Jersey winter. Luck seemed to be on my side as the engine roared to life.

Lula slammed her door closed and I peeled out, speeding away. I cut down a few side streets and back into an area of Trenton known as The Burg. It was short for Chambersburg, and where I'd grown up. My parents still lived there in a cramped, but comfortable, duplex. The Burg comprised a proud neighborhood of hard working, God-fearing people who kept their homes and lawns tidy, ate around dining room tables, and tried to adhere to the ten commandments. Good thing God had forgotten, "thou shalt not gossip," because Burg residents loved nothing more than a good rumor. Except maybe a good funeral.

"I don't think he wanted to reschedule his court date," remarked Lula a few blocks later.

"Gee, you think?"

Such is the life of Stephanie Plum. Unfortunately, I'm Stephanie Plum. As a bond enforcement agent for my cousin Vinnie, it's my job to track down the dregs of Trenton who've skipped their court dates. I liked to think most of them missed their hearing by accident, and a gentle reminder from me would set things right. However, more often than not, I ended up with doors slammed in my face or guns pointed at my chest. I'd rolled in dirt, garbage, and worse, more than a few times. I'm Hungarian-Italian with blue eyes, naturally curly brown hair that hits my shoulders, and a body that usually allows me to button the top of my jeans. I had a propensity for losing handcuffs, destroying cars, and getting death threats. And the truly crazy thing was, I liked my job.

Lula examined her broken heel, frowning. "My poor shoes. What did my boots ever do to him? I need some of that soul food."

"Soul food?"

"Yeah, you know, good, home cooking, full of love and sympathy and shit. Oh look, Cluck-in-a-Bucket! Pull in."

I pulled up to the drive through, huffing and puffing as I rolled down the window with the hand crank. My Honda CR-V had power windows. However, it had recently gone to car heaven at the hands of a demented plow truck driver, so I'd resorted to borrowing my late Uncle Sandor's 1953 Buick.

Lula leaned across me so she could yell into the drive through receiver. "One bucket of chicken, extra crispy, with a side of mashed potatoes with extra gravy, mac and cheese, and four of those good biscuit things." She paused, looking at me. "What do you want, Steph?"

I gaped for a second before recovering. "Chicken sandwich with fries and a Coke," I told the clerk.

"Oh yeah, give me a large diet Coke," Lula shouted after me. "Oh, and one of those apple turnover thingies."

We pulled around to the window and collected our food, then headed back to the bonds office.

"Do you think we should have got something for Connie?" Lula asked as she dug into her bucket of chicken.

"If she wants something, I'll run out and get it for her," I offered, trying not to roll my eyes.

My cousin Vinnie's bail bonds office was a one-story storefront off Hamilton Ave. It had a lot in the back, but today I parked in front of the office. I walked in, while Lula gimped along behind me, hanging onto her food.

I put my lunch on a small end table and slouched into the Naugahyde sofa across from Connie's desk. Connie Risolli, Vinnie's office manager and guard dog, provided the last line of defense between Vinnie and irritated bondees, bookies, and hookers.

"Rough morning?" asked Connie.

"I got shot at." The 'again' hung unsaid in the air.

Lula, only now recalling her injured apparel, shoved her foot out so Connie could see the damaged heel. "Bastard shot my heel off," she said through a mouthful of chicken.

I polished off my chicken sandwich, fries, and soda, then waited for Lula to finish her small mountain of food.

"Vinnie in today?" I asked, eying the closed door to his office.

"Had to go down to the courthouse to write a bond," Connie replied. "And then he said he had a 'lunch meeting.'"

That was Vinnie's code word for picking up a 'ho on Stark Street. At least I wouldn't have to face him and explain why I hadn't managed to pick up a skip in a week. I had really hoped Ralph would come easy. I had rent to pay on the first and my bank account currently ran drier than the Sahara in July.

My purse vibrated as my cell phone went off. I recognized the number for the police department.

Please don't be Morelli, I prayed as I answered it. Turns out there is a God. Or at least someone who answers telephone prayers.

"Stephanie?"

I recognized cop Eddie Garazza's voice. "What's up Eddie?"

"Just thought you should know we have Ralph Cercone down here at the station. But I need to ask you a few questions before I can book him on the FTA."

"Okay."

"Ralph came down to the police station to file a complaint against you. Said you shot out his front window?"

"What? He shot at me when I tried to bring him in for the FTA. I had to dive behind a shrub."

"And you didn't shoot back?"

"I didn't even have a gun with me, Eddie. I swear, I didn't shoot at him." And it was the truth. Lula shot at him. My gun sat safely at my apartment, empty of bullets and buried beneath a bag of Chips Ahoy in my cookie jar.

"That's what I figured. I'll book him and you can stop by to get the body receipt."

"Thanks, Eddie."

"If I don't see you, Merry Christmas."

"Thanks. Merry Christmas."

I hung up and explained the situation to Connie and Lula.

"No way someone could be that dumb," Connie insisted as I grabbed my coat and headed for Big Blue.

"Maybe it's an early Christmas present from Santa," suggested Lula. "Like, he knew you needed the money, and you've been real good this year, so he decided to give you an easy capture."

I didn't think getting shot at counted as an easy capture, but who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

I parked in the lot across the street from the police station, trying to ignore that Morelli's SUV sat only a few spots away. My on-again off-again relationship with vice cop Joe Morelli currently idled in the off position. Our latest breakup quickly became known around the Burg as the Thanksgiving Day Plum Parade. After enduring my mother's non-stop pestering at dinner over when I finally planned to give up bounty hunting, marry Joe, and start popping out grandkids, I snapped just as dessert hit the table. Storming out of the house should have been the end of it, but Morelli made the poor choice to try and follow me, insisting I'd overreacted and should just calm down.

There were rumors the screaming could be heard four blocks away. My mother emerged after Joe, and the angry words just escalated. My Grandma Mazur followed, with an air horn she'd procured from god knew where. A few blasts from the air horn had stunned us enough to pause the shouting. It gave my father a chance to come to the door and yell that he would start eating the pumpkin pie without us. I'd gotten in my car and sped away, without pumpkin pie, leftovers, or a boyfriend.

According to Grandma Mazur, my mother had ironed for a week straight.

I hadn't seen Morelli since Thanksgiving. After a month, I still wanted to stay mad at him, but I feared my resolve would crack if he cornered me at the station. Plus, I missed Bob, his big, hairy orange dog.

I walked into the station and collected my body receipt. Ralph didn't amount to a big ticket skip, but he'd pay my rent and put food in my fridge. I practically ran back to Big Blue, thankful I'd escaped the station without a confrontation with Morelli. I headed straight back to the office so Connie could cut me a check. I deposited it and headed home, content to know I wouldn't get evicted for at least another month.

I spent Christmas Day at my parents' house. After the Thanksgiving fiasco, I didn't know if I wanted to endure another family dinner, but the temptation of enough leftovers to fill my fridge for a week proved too strong. Thankfully, the focus of Christmas fell on my nieces, so no one said a word to me about my personal life.

* * *

A few minutes before midnight on December twenty-seventh, Lula and I left Rosie's bar. Despite the name, Rosie's fit the bill as a dive bar. Only a block from Stark Street, it could be described as sketchy, at best, and frequented by 'hos and lowlifes, which was exactly why I found myself there. My intelligence said that one of my skips, Johnny Barker, liked to hang out at Rosie's. He'd gone FTA on a simple assault charge: he'd imbibed a bit too much and cracked someone over the head with a glass beer bottle.

After nearly two hours of inhaling second hand smoke and fending off unwanted advances, I'd thrown in the towel. It seemed unlikely Barker would show tonight.

Lula waved goodnight to me as she sashayed toward her red Firebird parked half a block down the street. Even in the dim light, she stood out in her neon pink spandex mini skirt, gold sequined tank top with more than ample cleavage, and four-inch spike heels. She made me look like a Catholic school girl in my clingy, black mid-thigh skirt and white glitter scoop neck t-shirt. I'd opted for a pair of black flats over Lula's suggested fuck-me heels, hoping I'd be cuffing Barker and hauling him back to jail. Turns out my sensibility was for nothing.

I crossed the street and headed for Big Blue. I'd parked a block up the street, under one of the few working streetlights. Shivering, I scooted into the driver's seat and turned the key. Nothing happened.

Cursing, I tried the key again. Again, nothing happened. Not even one measly crank. Big Blue had finally given up the ghost.

I got out of the car, looking back down the street, but Lula and her Firebird were already gone. I got back in and vigorously rubbed my hands up and down my arms, assessing my situation. I pulled out my cell phone and turned it back on, ignoring a few missed call notifications, and dialed Lula. She should only be a few blocks away, but her phone went straight to voicemail and her in-box said full. I hung up.

I had limited options. My parents were in bed. And while my ever-loving father would haul himself out to come get my sorry ass, I couldn't take the humiliation. Or my mother's consternation. Morelli wasn't an option, either. That left just one person: Ranger. My body spontaneously warmed at the thought. Ricardo Carlos Manoso, aka Ranger, had been my mentor when I first started working for Vinnie. During his time in the Army's Special Forces he'd earned the name Ranger. Now he owned a high tech, high end security firm called Rangeman. His Cuban American heritage and chiseled body made him a Latino Adonis. The sexual attraction between us became nearly palpable at times, and we'd caved to it more than once, but Ranger left no room in his life for any kind of committed relationship. If I called him now, I would owe him, and owing Ranger came with a dangerous bargain. Still preferable to freezing to death in Big Blue, though. I started to dial his number when movement outside caught my eye.

A man walked quickly down the sidewalk, and as he passed the streetlight by Big Blue, I caught enough of his face to recognize Johnny Barker. He headed toward Rosie's.

My car troubles suddenly forgotten, I grabbed flexi-cuffs from my purse and hopped out.

"Hey, Johnny, wait up!"

I hoped he would pause and give me a chance to catch up with him. Unfortunately, he jumped like a startled rabbit and took off at a run. I sprinted after him, shouting, "stop, bond enforcement!"

Johnny skidded around a corner into a small alley between a closed Chinese restaurant and a 24-hour laundromat. I followed cautiously. Darkness consumed the alley. Dumpsters and trash cans blocked most of the space, Barker nowhere to be seen. I slowed to a walk, wishing I'd thought to bring a flashlight. In the dimness, I could see the brick wall of a building ahead. A dead end. Barker had to be here somewhere.

I stood on my tip toes and peeked inside a dumpster. Nada. Behind me, I heard the scrape of metal. I spun just in time to put my arms up to block a flying trash can. It bounced to my left with a clatter. Barker sprinted back toward the street. I followed and he grabbed the overturned lid of another trash can and flung it at my face. Half-frozen slushy water hit me. At least I hoped it contained water. I shrieked as it soaked my head, face, and chest. Barker pulled over a third trash can, scattering its contents across the width of the alley before escaping back onto the sidewalk. I picked my way through the garbage, sputtering and shivering. By the time I reached the sidewalk, Barker had disappeared.

Headlights suddenly illuminated me as a black Porsche 911 Turbo rolled to a stop on the street. The window slid down and Ranger gave me a once over, half a smile gracing his lips.

"Babe." That single word could hold a multitude of meanings when uttered by Ranger. At the moment, it conveyed amusement.

"I was just going to call you. Big Blue won't start. How did you know?"

"I didn't. I've been calling, worried as to why your car was parked so near Stark Street so late, but you weren't answering."

"No reason for concern. Lula and I were fishing for an FTA at Rosie's."

"Babe, I think that fish threw you from the boat."

I shivered. "Slight snag. Could you give me a ride home?"

Ranger nodded. I retrieved my phone and purse from Big Blue and hopped into the Porsche, sighing as I sank into the heated leather seat. It felt so nice and warm.

I sensed Ranger's eyes on me.

"What?"

"Babe, you could win first prize in a wet t-shirt contest right now. Not that I'm complaining."

I glanced down at my chest. The slush had soaked through both my shirt and my bra, leaving very little to the imagination. I awkwardly crossed my arms over my breasts.

Ranger pulled into my lot a short time later.

"You can just drop me off at the door," I told him.

"Not a chance," came his reply. Shivers that had nothing to do with the cold shot up my body.

He parked and walked me up to my apartment. I unlocked the door and Ranger entered first, quickly sweeping the space as I waited in the foyer. Sadly, a totally normal procedure for me.

"No bad guys lurking under the bed," Ranger reported, closing the gap between us to put his hands on my waist. His eyes darkened as he scanned my still-wet shirt.

"I should really get a shower and go to bed," I replied.

I could smell the cigarette smoke in my hair and god only knew what else was in the trash can water. I tried to wiggle out of Ranger's grip. A night with him always proved tempting, but tended to make my life complicated. Sex with Ranger felt a lot like making love, at least to me. But since he left no room in his life for relationships, it seemed best that I kept my distance.

Ranger had other plans. His lips brushed mine, then moved to my ear. "I forgot to check the shower. I should probably go with you."

Electricity shot through my extremities, cumulating between my legs. A month without Morelli also meant a month of abstinence. I liked to think myself better than that, but who was I kidding? One of the sexiest men alive just offered to shower with me. 'Turned on' didn't even begin to describe my emotions.

"That would probably be best," I agreed breathily.

A second later, Ranger's lips crashed greedily into mine. His tongue swirled against mine and lava supplanted all the blood in my body. Panting, I let him steer me into the bathroom. His hands moved north, tugging my shirt off. It hit the floor with a wet slap, followed shortly by my bra. Ranger cupped my breasts, his thumbs flicking across my taunt nipples. His hands felt exquisite, like fire against my cold skin. As his lips collided with mine once more, I moaned into his mouth.

He stopped kissing me long enough to turn on the shower and pull off his clothes. He soon divested me of the rest of mine. Ranger stepped into the tub first, tugging me along behind him. He ducked his head under the stream of water, splashing me.

I gulped as I took in his toned body, glistening with water. His wet hair clung to his face and neck, only increasing his sex appeal. Despite the warm water, I shivered. Perhaps I'd bitten off more than I could chew, but too late to back out now.

Ranger's eyes bored into my body as I lathered my hair with shampoo. Then I grabbed a loofa, massaging shower gel into it until suds dripped down my hand. Slowly, I began to wash Ranger's body. Starting at his neck, I trailed down his shoulders and each arm before rubbing small circles on his chest. I moved down over his perfect abs, trying to control my breathing. As I got to his pelvis, I found him already hard and swollen. Good god. I felt a rush of heat and moisture between my legs that had nothing to do with the shower.

I took a handful of suds and gently stroked his manhood. A groan escaped Ranger's lips as he grabbed a handful of shower curtain. I didn't linger too long and soon moved down his legs. I motioned for him to turn around and he obliged. I slowly caressed his back with the loofa.

Rinsing the soap from his body, Ranger turned around to face me, taking the loofa. I swallowed hard. My turn.

He squeezed some more shower gel into the sponge and maneuvered me so that my back faced him, the water hitting my chest. He brushed across my back, scrubbing gently all the way down to my heels. Then he turned me, the water now running down my spine. I leaned back, allowing the hot water to rinse my hair and gasped as I felt Ranger's hands caress my breasts. His thumbs rolled across my nipples and I moaned, putting a hand on the tile to keep my knees from buckling.

With a wicked grin, Ranger pulled his hands away and began to run the loofa down my shoulders and arms. He gently circled my breasts with the suds, then rubbed down my stomach. My breathing hitched audibly as his fingers reached the edge of my pubic hair. With another grin, he by passed the entire area, kneeling so he could gently wash both my legs.

His fingers trailed back up my body and I shuddered as the loofa slid between my legs. Suddenly, the loofa disappeared and only Ranger's fingers remained, gently stroking my sex. I groaned, grabbing at the tile again. Swiftly, Ranger pulled me against him with his other arm as two of his fingers slid all the way inside me. His thumb played with my clit, causing my knees to quake. If it weren't for his arm pressing me to him, I likely would have been a puddle on the tub floor.

We spun and suddenly I found my back pressed against the shower wall. Ranger's magic fingers continued to stroke me and I felt the sensation of a spring tightening between my legs. Involuntarily, my hips moved against his hand, trying to maximize the thrusts of his fingers. I rushed toward the edge of release, moaning loudly. Ranger's lips crashed down onto mine, hungrily. I opened my mouth slightly, allowing his tongue to graze mine. My hands raked his back as the spring finally sprung, moaning into his mouth as intense pleasure overtook me.

As my spasms ebbed, Ranger's fingers left me. He stepped closer, until I could feel his erection pressed against my abdomen.

"Do we need a raincoat?" he growled in my ear.

I shook my head, suddenly very happy I'd decided to continue on the pill after my breakup with Morelli.

Ranger grabbed my waist with both hands and lifted me gently. He set me back down on his hips, impaling me on his manhood. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deep inside me as we groaned in unison. With my back against the tile, Ranger's hips began to pump. I moaned with each thrust. Once again his lips covered mine. As the ecstatic minutes passed, his thrusts grew more urgent, his mouth needier. I balanced on the edge of another orgasm already, and as Ranger shifted his hips, my world exploded and I dragged him along with me.

We remained locked together for a few more minutes, gasping for breath. The water had run cold. Probably a good thing, otherwise I might have passed out from the heat.

"That was the dirtiest shower I've ever taken," I remarked as we dried ourselves off.

"Babe."

I gathered my clothes from the floor, a towel wrapped around my torso, and walked to my bedroom. I expected Ranger to get dressed and leave, all part of his no commitment thing. Instead, he followed me into the bedroom, naked, and slid under my covers. So much for sleeping tonight. I switched off the light and climbed into the bed next to him. Even though he'd just gotten out of my shower, I could still smell his Bulgari shower gel on his damp skin. I breathed it in as he pulled me close, kissing down my jaw line and onto my collarbone. The scent surrounded me in the darkness, as he continued our shower activities underneath my sheets. My last coherent thought suggested this must be what heaven smells like.


	2. Chapter Two

TWO

I woke to an empty bed and a rush of disappointment. A perfect demonstration as to why nights with Ranger were so dangerous. I had no reason to expect him to stay, but the letdown still stung. The red numbers on my bedside clock showed nearly nine.

Getting up, I stumbled into the bathroom, eyes still half closed. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and attempted to tame my hair, ending up with a messy ponytail. I'd done laundry at my mother's house on Christmas, making my closet full for once. I returned to my bedroom and slid into a pair of blue jeans and a green sweater.

I padded into the living room and stopped dead. Ranger sat on my sofa, his Macbook open on my coffee table. Half an orange rested on a plate next to the laptop, as well as a to-go cup from the Dunkin Donuts down the street.

"I'm impressed," he said without turning, sensing my presence with his crazy Batman abilities. "You actually have food. Real food."

"It's a Christmas miracle," I shot back dryly. Actually, it was the normal result of a post-holiday feast at my mother's house. And the fresh citrus came from my mother's disapproval of my life choices. Everyone else got candy in their stockings. I'd received fruit.

"I got you coffee. It's on the counter."

I grabbed the still warm Dunkin Donuts cup and hugged it to my chest before taking a sip and grimacing. It was black. I immediately poured in a few tablespoons of sugar and two creamers. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make her drink black coffee.

I glanced at the apples in the bowl on my counter. That would be a nice healthy breakfast. I opened my cabinet and pulled out a box of Apple Jacks instead. At least it had apple in the name. I dropped a few of the orange and green O's into Rex's cage. He rushed out of his soup can, wiggled his whiskers in my direction, stuffed the cereal into his mouth, then retreated into hiding.

"Babe." Ranger rolled his eyes as I slouched down next to him on the couch with my doctored coffee and box of cereal.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised you're still here."

"I need your help with a Rangeman job."

I raised one eyebrow at him. Generally, my role in Rangeman jobs was to dress the part of the bimbo. But it also meant a guaranteed pay check, so I rarely complained.

"We've got a personal protection job, but it's on New Year's Eve. I thought you might already have plans."

I sensed he meant with Morelli. Did he really think I'd sleep with him while if I was back to seeing Morelli? "Nope, no plans. Count me in."

"One more thing, before you agree. It's in New York City, Times Square."

I squealed, suddenly sitting up straighter on the sofa. "Are you kidding? We get to watch the ball drop live in Times Square?"

"We'll be working," he warned.

"So, who are we protecting?" My mind filled with the faces of the celebrities who performed during the celebration.

"Chantelle Robinson."

"Who?"

"She's the daughter of William Robinson."

Somewhere in my brain, that name struck a chord, but I couldn't quite place where. "Why do I know that name?"

"He's a New Jersey Senator."

Now I remembered. His name and image were plastered all over the news in the summer, after an affair with one of his political interns led to a very public, messy divorce.

"So, what's up with the daughter?" I asked.

"She goes to NYU, and over the last semester picked up a stalker. At first the kid just followed her around, but after she got a restraining order against him, he went off the deep end. He dropped out of school, but kept sending her notes and presents."

"That doesn't sound so scary." No one ever sends me presents.

"The last note promised that if he couldn't have her, no one could. It came in a box with a dead rabbit."

I made a disgusted face. Okay, so maybe presents were overrated. "So why haven't the cops brought this guy in yet?"

"No one can find him, including me." I sensed Ranger's frustration behind the statement. He took pride in his skill set, and it wasn't often someone eluded him. "New York City offers plenty of places to hide, and we're pretty confident he's just lying low, waiting for an opportunity."

"So, after all this, Chantelle Robinson still wants to go out and party for New Year's Eve?"

"She's twenty-one and trying not to let this creep affect her life. She's also got her father wrapped around her finger, so he's willing to shell out the cash to ensure she and her friends have a good time."

"So why do you need my help?"

"Chantelle isn't keen on having a bunch of ex-military men cramp her style. She has reservations for herself and nine friends at a posh restaurant and a VIP spot in Times Square. I can be nearby, but I need someone she will let stay close and who can follow her into bathrooms."

"You want me to babysit."

That earned half a smile. "Just for one night. After the ball drops, we see her safely home to her apartment and the job's done." He leaned closer to me, his voice dropping. "Then you and I can ring in the new year."

Warm tingles filled my body at the thought.

"I'll pick you up at two on the thirty-first," he added.

Ranger's mention of a ride reminded me that Big Blue remained out of commission. "I don't suppose you could drop me off at the bonds office?"

"No need." He plucked a key out of his pocket and pressed it into my palm. "Tank got Big Blue running this morning. It just needed a jump. You left the headlights on. He dropped it off at your parents' house. There is a Rangeman Jeep in the parking lot for you. The lights turn off automatically."

I ignored the jibe and accepted the key. "You know I can't promise to return it to you in one piece, right?"

"Babe," he said with a full smile, "I've got a whole rider on my insurance policy just for you."

I hoped he meant it as a joke, but couldn't be certain. I could be a major liability when it came to motor vehicles.

Finishing my Apple Jacks, I carried the bowl to the sink and left it to be washed later. I gave Rex fresh water and a carrot stick before grabbing my messenger bag and coat and heading for the parking lot. Ranger followed me out, walking me to the black Rangeman Jeep. I climbed in and cranked the engine over.

He leaned in, curled one hand around the nape of my neck, and gave me a long blistering kiss. "A promise of things to come," he whispered when he finally pulled away. It suddenly didn't matter that the vents were blowing cold air.

* * *

Connie and Lula were already at the bail bonds office when I pulled up outside. Before I could even say good morning, Lula pounced.

"Good for you, girl. You got some last night!"

I tried to look indignant and failed. "I did not get any last night," I lied.

"Don't give me that. You got that post-sex glow about you. And your goofy 'I got lucky' smile."

I paused, making a concerted effort to transform from goofy smile to resting bitch face.

"Nope, you still got that 'I got lucky' smile."

"You and Joe back together?" asked Connie.

"Not exactly," I mumbled. "Anyway, I just stopped to see if you have any new files for me."

Connie pushed two files forward on her desk and I grabbed them, flipping each open. One was small potatoes, but the file on George Fortecelli caught my eye. His bond sat a lot higher than my average FTA. He'd been arrested and charged with felony arson after surveillance camera footage caught him starting a fire that burned down an abandoned apartment building.

"Great. Thanks. Well, gotta run. Bad guys to catch and all that."

I turned around and bumped into Lula's ample bosom, which spilled out of her tight, nearly see through cheetah print sweater. Every detail of her bright pink jeweled bra was visible.

"Spill it girlfriend! If it wasn't Joe, who were you playing hide the salami with last night?"

My eyes darted to the Jeep sitting out front. My escape. So close, yet so far away. I contemplated how fast I could sidestep Lula and make it to the door.

Lula followed my eyes and gasped. "It was Ranger!"

Connie fanned herself with an empty file. "You tapped Batman? If I got that man in my bed, I don't think I'd ever let him back out."

"Look, it's not a big deal."

"The hell it's not," replied Lula. "I get all hot and bothered just thinking of that man naked."

I couldn't take much more of this. "Look, I'm going to go see if I can track down George Fortecelli. If you want to come," I said to Lula, "you have to swear not to mention Ranger again."

"Fine, but I don't know what you're so uptight about. If I'd just banged that man, I'd be shoutin' it from the roof tops."

My eye began to twitch. I pressed a finger to it and headed out the door, Lula close on my heels.

"Not a bad trade," she commented, looking over the Jeep. "Spend a night banging a sexy dude, get a new car."

"That's not why he gave me the Jeep," I said through gritted teeth. At least, I was almost positive that's not why he gave me the Jeep. Ranger loaned me cars more often than I cared to admit, and usually no sex had been involved. "Big Blue wouldn't start when I left Rosie's last night, so Ranger gave me a ride home."

"You should have just called me," remarked Lula. "I would have given you a ride."

I resisted a strong urge to bash my head off the Jeep's door.

George Fortecelli listed his address as 634 Maple Street. It soon became obvious he'd lied, as 634 didn't exist. Only an empty lot existed between 632 and 636.

"I don't see no house," Lula remarked as we idled at the curb.

"It burned down thirty years ago," I replied, only now checking Connie's notes in the file. "But George must be familiar with the neighborhood, to know the address of the one vacant lot. I'm hoping a neighbor might be able to tell us where he's staying."

Connie had included copious notes on Fortecelli. He was forty-seven years old, never married. His parents were both dead. He had a sister living in Fresno and a brother renting a cot in the state penitentiary. His bond had been partially secured with the deed to thirty acres of land in the Poconos, but according to Connie's notes, it contained nothing more than woods. His last known employer was a company called CampTech, here in Trenton, but he hadn't worked there in nearly a year. There was one vehicle registered in his name, a four-year-old maroon Ford Focus. The phone number he'd provided came back as no longer in service.

I turned the Jeep off and hopped out. Grabbing the photo of George from his file, I walked up to 632. No one answered.

"Probably at work," Lula commented, peering into a window.

I walked over to 636 and knocked. A yippy dog starting barking immediately. I turned to try the next house when the door creaked open.

"Can I help you, young lady?"

The woman behind the door, at least the few inches I could see of her, seemed to be at least ninety. She stood shriveled and stooped, barely higher than the doorknob. An overexcited chihuahua yapped from behind her spindly legs.

"Hi, my name is Stephanie Plum. I'm looking for George Fortecelli. He listed his address at 634, but that's clearly a mistake and I was hoping you could tell me where he lives." No reason to reveal my occupation as a bond enforcement agent. Lying remained one of the few qualifications of the job that I did well. I flashed his picture.

"Georgie? Is he in any trouble?"

Okay, so it turns out I can't lie to ninety-year-old ladies. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before Lula came to my rescue.

"Now strictly speaking, we're not supposed to tell you this. But we're from that Publisher's Clearing House and Mr. Fortecelli is a finalist for our grand prize."

The door shut and I sighed. I thought it sounded like a damn good story.

A chain scraped metal and the door opened again. "In that case, come in. I was just making some tea."

"Um, thank you, Mrs…"

"Just call me Granny. That's what all the youngsters call me."

Lula raised an eyebrow in my direction. It seemed like little chance Granny waited to bludgeon us to death and bury us in her backyard, so I walked in.

The doorway contained a time machine back to the 1970s. Dark wood paneling lined all the walls. A large lamp hung from the ceiling of the foyer, it's glass panes stained green and yellow. The shag carpet, well-worn but clean, matched the brown hue on the walls.

Granny led us through the narrow house and into the rear kitchen. A tea kettle sang on the yellowish-cream colored stove.

"Please have a seat," Granny rasped, pointing to the round laminate table in the corner. Lula and I sat.

Granny took the kettle off the burner and pulled three tea cups and saucers from the lowest shelf of the top cabinets. They were white china, with yellow and green flowers dotted across them. She placed them on a plastic tray, plopped a tea bag in each one, then poured in the hot water.

The china rattled as she carried the tray over to the table, tea sloshing everywhere. Then she pulled out a boxed Entemann's coffee cake from the bread box and cut three thick slices. We ate and sipped in amiable silence, but eventually I felt the need to broach the topic of George Fortecelli again.

"So how do you know Georgie?" I asked tentatively.

"I've known Georgie since he was just a little toddler. His mother's cousin lived next door, and she had a son about Georgie's age. The boys were always playing together. Even when they got older, I'd see them over there all the time. Then the fire broke out and the house burnt down. I didn't see Georgie so much after that."

I suppressed a shiver. George Fortecelli was FTA on a felony arson charge.

"Do you know where he's staying now?"

Granny shook her head. "No, never knew where he lived before. He just always seemed to be with his cousin, Frankie Rossi. Maybe you should ask him. He lives over on Chestnut now. I still see him every once in a while. He comes to leave flowers every year on the anniversary of the fire. His mom didn't make it out of the house."

Lula and I thanked Granny for the tea and cake and climbed back into the Jeep. I called Connie to get an address for Frankie Rossi, before driving over to his house on Chestnut Street. Finding no one home, I left my card and a note asking Frankie to call me.

"Where to next?" Lula asked.

I pulled out the other new file and paged through it. I stopped at the mug shot of Celia Mileski, a woman in her middle fifties, with graying hair and a thin face. She'd missed her court date for DUI charges. According to Connie's notes, Celia's car remained impounded and she lived off Social Security Disability. That meant there stood a good chance I'd find her at home.

I passed the file to Lula as I did a K-turn and headed back on Chestnut the way we'd come. Celia didn't live too far from my parents in the Burg.


	3. Chapter Three

THREE

I parked in front of Celia's small, faded yellow, two-story single-family home. A metal car port sat empty next to the house. Two cracked, concrete steps led up to a tiny, screened in front porch. I pulled open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. It contained a small wicker love seat and a large empty bird cage. I rapt on the door to the main house and waited. A minute later, Celia Mileski opened the door, dressed in a pink bathrobe.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Stephanie Plum," I recited, handing her my card. "I represent Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. Unfortunately, you recently missed your court date and I need you to come with me to get rescheduled."

"Of course I missed my court date," Celia shot back. "They impounded my car. How the hell do they expect me to get to court when they won't give my car back?"

"That's just like the government," Lula pipped in.

"Ain't it?" Celia replied. "You tell them I'll show up to court when they give me back my car."

"It doesn't really work like that," I tried to explain, but Lula cut me off.

"You tell em, sister. Ain't nothin' gonna change until people stand up for their rights. You know what you need? One of them Occupy movements."

Celia's face lit up. "That's a great idea. We could Occupy the impound lot until they give me my car back."

"Yeah, and all them other cars they got locked up there," added Lula. "I know a bunch of people who got their stuff locked up in there. They'd Occupy with you."

My eye began twitching again. "Celia, we really need to get your court date rescheduled first."

"And how do you expect me to get back home afterwards?"

"You could call an Uber," suggested Lula.

"A what?"

My eye twitched so hard, I thought I might be on the verge of a seizure. "I can drive you down to get rescheduled, re-bonded, and then drive you back," I offered. This debacle might become more of a headache than my cut of the bond was worth.

Celia shot me a calculating look. "I suppose that would work. Let me put on some decent clothes and shoes. Come in."

Lula and I stepped into the house. It was clean, if a little out dated. Celia went upstairs to change. The little foyer we stood in opened to a small living room. Another large bird cage stood empty, but open, against the far wall.

Both Lula and I jumped when we heard a small voice from the kitchen call out, "Help!" A few seconds passed, then we heard the voice again. "Help!"

I tip toed around the corner to peek into the kitchen. Perched atop the back of one of the kitchen chairs sat a large blue parrot. It watched a small TV set on the counter. A re-run of NCIS played on the screen, the bird mimicking the victim.

"Thank god, it's just a bird," sighed Lula.

The parrot squawked, apparently surprised at two strangers in its kitchen, and launched off its perch, flying straight at us.

Lula and I hit the floor as feathers grazed our heads.

"Oh, hell no," Lula shouted. "I'm outta here!" She rushed for the door.

I followed, throwing my hands over my head as blue feathers filled my line of vision. I heard the screen door slam before I'd even made it back to the front porch. A wing buffeted my head and I screamed. The creature followed me onto the screen porch, flying in circles above my head, squawking. As I pushed through the screen door, I tripped down the concrete steps, sending me sprawling face first onto the sidewalk. I felt the breeze on the back of my neck as the parrot flew out behind me.

Lula helped me up and I dusted off my knees, palms slightly brush burned.

"What did you do?" Celia demanded, running out of the house. "You let my Polly out!"

We all looked at the sky. The blue parrot winged her way east.

"We need to catch her," Celia insisted.

"I'm sure she'll come back when she gets hungry," I replied.

Celia shot me a dirty look. "She's a blue Macau, not a common house cat. If you want to take me in to get rescheduled, you'll help me catch Polly."

I sighed. We all piled into the Jeep and I started driving east, with Lula and Celia hanging their heads out the windows to track Polly.

"Hard left," Lula directed and I veered in front of an oncoming truck, earning an angry horn blow and a stiff middle finger.

Twenty minutes later, Celia finally shouted, "She's landed," pointing to a clump of leafless trees in the middle of a public park and playground. The park stood empty, save for a few teenagers loitering around the swings.

I pulled into the parking lot. We all got out and huddled around the base of a massive oak tree. Polly sat half way up, preening her feathers on the end of a branch.

"Here Polly! Here Polly!" Celia called, but the parrot pointedly ignored her.

"One of us is going to have to climb up and get her," said Lula.

Two sets of eyes looked at me.

"What? I can't climb trees." I used to climb out the bathroom window and onto the porch roof to sneak out in high school, but that didn't count.

"Have you ever tried?" inquired Lula.

"Yes, I was eight and I broke my arm. Why don't you climb the tree?"

Lula looked down at her outfit. "Does this look like appropriate tree climbing attire?" She wore impossibly tight skinny jeans, spike heeled ankle boots, and the see-through cheetah print sweater.

I looked at Celia. "I'm on disability cause of my bad back," she explained.

"I can't even reach the first branch," I protested. "How am I supposed to climb the tree?"

"That's easy. You see this all the time on those survival shows," Lula replied. "Celia and I just give you a lift up." She motioned an alley-op.

Lula squatted down and laced her fingers together six inches above the ground. Celia copied her. This seemed insane. I took a deep breath and put one sneakered foot into Lula's hands, then the other into Celia's. They heaved and I suddenly sailed upward. I latched my arms around the branch as Lula and Celia pushed my feet up. My sneakers scrabbled against the bark, but I finally got my feet hooked around the branch where it met the tree trunk. I hung there for a few seconds, trying to catch my breath.

"She kinda looks like a sloth," Celia remarked to Lula.

My right eye twitched painfully.

Somehow, I managed to pull myself onto the branch and stand up, hugging the tree trunk for dear life. The next branch grew within an arm's length. I put both hands on it and hauled myself up, until I hung from my armpits, swinging my legs up and over. I straddled the branch and reevaluated my life choices.

Over the next half hour, I slowly ascended the tree. Polly watched me through cold, black eyes, but mercifully stayed perched. I reached the branch below the parrot, but discovered a big problem.

"I can't reach the branch Polly is on," I shouted down to Lula and Celia.

"See if she will fly down to you," Celia shouted.

"Here, Polly," I coaxed, proffering one of my arms as a perch. The bird didn't move.

"We need some crackers or something to lure her down," Lula shouted.

"Oh, wait," Celia cried, "I forgot. I have some of her bird snacks in my pocket." She pulled out a small bag of parrot treats and shook it. Polly's head immediately swiveled toward her owner and she glided down to land on Celia's shoulder. Celia immediately gave her a treat from the bag.

"You can come down now, Steph," shouted Lula.

I looked back the way I'd come. I'd climbed a lot higher than I realized. My vision swam and I hugged myself harder against the tree trunk. Nope. No way in hell I could get down from here on my own.

Ten minutes later, lights flashing and siren blaring, a fire truck rolled into the park. A few seconds later a couple cop cars arrived too, then an ambulance. The noise drew the attention of the neighbors and soon a pretty good crowd milled around underneath me. To top it all off, an unmarked cop car rolled into the lot and Morelli got out. He wore jeans, a cream sweater that fit snuggly across his chest and biceps, and a gun on his hip. His black hair, in need of a trim, ruffled in the cold breeze. He looked sexy as hell and I had to remind myself I was still mad at him.

Morelli walked over to my tree and looked up. "When I heard there was a woman stuck in a tree in the park off Elm Street, I hoped it wouldn't be you. I should really know better by now."

"Just shut up and get me down," I shouted.

Morelli walked over to the group of firefighters assessing my situation. A few minutes later, one returned to the fire truck and drove it over the grass and as close to the tree as possible. The ladder slowly lifted and extended, but the closest they could get it to me was still several feet away. One of the firefighters scurried up the ladder, holding a rope and harness.

"I'm going to throw this to you," he said from the end of the ladder. "You'll need to put it on and then you're going to have to jump over to me."

"You're joking."

"Would you rather jump without the rope and harness?"

"Well, when you put it that way, no." I reached a shaky hand out and the firefighter tossed the harness toward me. I didn't close my hand fast enough and missed. The fireman hauled it back up by the rope and tried again. This time I grabbed it.

It appeared the kind of harness used for rock climbing, with two holes for each leg and a band that went around the waist. There was no way I could have stepped into it without falling over on solid ground, never mind while balancing on a tree limb. I put the strap around my waist and tightened it as much as I could with one hand.

The fireman took in the slack from the rope. "Okay, now just try to walk out on the branch as far as you can, then jump to me."  
He might as well have asked me to score a perfect ten on the balance beam at the Olympics.

With my heart threatening to beat out of my chest, I let go of the tree trunk and swiveled to face the fireman. Holding my arms out like a tight rope walker, I took a few shaky steps toward the ladder.

"Good, just like that, now just keep coming toward me. No, don't look down!"

Too late. My vision swam again, my legs quaked and my sneaker slid off the side of the branch. I screamed as I fell, but then jerked to a stop a few feet below the branch, dangling from the rope. Slowly, the fireman hauled me up to him. He signaled to the driver and the ladder began to descend. The crowd cheered and clapped. I hid my face in shame.

The EMT's waited for me when I arrived safely back on solid ground.

"I'm fine," I assured them, wanting nothing more than to just get away from all the spectators. And Morelli.

I turned around and bumped into his chest.

"Cupcake, do I even want to know why you were in the tree?"

"You must, since you just asked me," I replied coldly.

Morelli sighed in an exasperated sort of way. "Come on, Steph. This whole break is dumb. I didn't even _do_ anything."

"Maybe that's part of the problem," I replied softly, moving past him.

He grabbed my arm gently. "Why don't you come over to my place New Year's Eve? I'll get a pizza and some beers. Bob misses you."

Pulling the Bob card was a low blow. My heart melted a little bit. "I can't. I've made other plans."

Morelli's mouth drew into a tight line. "Please tell me you have a girls' night planned?"

For some reason, I couldn't look Morelli in the eye. "I'll be working," I said to the ground, "with Ranger."

Morelli let my arm go and I walked away, feeling miserable. Lula and Celia trotted up to me, Polly still hanging out on Celia's shoulder.

"I'll take you home," I told Celia. "I can pick you up tomorrow to get your court date rescheduled. I'm taking the rest of the day off."

We reached the Jeep, only to find Ranger leaning against the passenger side of his Porsche 911, parked in the stall next to mine. He shook with silent laughter.

"Babe," he said with a full smile, the amusement reaching his eyes. "I cancelled a very important meeting when I heard you were stuck in a tree."

"I hope it costs you a fortune," I replied, my mood foul.

His smile didn't fade, "Oh it will. But it was worth every penny to witness that."

I punched him in the side. He didn't even flinch. I rubbed my sore knuckles. Ranger's eyes darted across the grass to where Morelli stood, watching us. Ranger suddenly grabbed me, pulling me against him and kissing me roughly. After a few seconds, I regained enough of my senses to push him away.

"That was not nice," I chided.

"I know," he replied unapologetically, still smiling. He kissed me again, a surprisingly sweet gentle peck, before walking away and getting back into his car. Revving the engine, he sped off.

I took Celia home, then dropped Lula back at the office. I headed home, stopping at the 7-11 to buy a few pints of Ben and Jerry's. I spent the rest of the day curled up on my couch, eating ice cream and binge watching Grey's Anatomy.

A little after five-thirty my cell phone rang. The display showed my parents' number.

I answered, mild dread filling my stomach. Chances were good my mother's phone had been ringing off the hook all afternoon. "Hello."

"Stephanie! You're trending on Facebook," exclaimed my Grandma Mazur.

"I'm what?"

"Trending on Facebook. That video of you in the tree today, it's gone viral."

I felt suddenly ill. "There's a video?"

"Yep, and now you're internet famous. Maybe you'll get called to go on Ellen. She always has on those internet famous folks."

"Grandma, whatever you do, don't let Mom see the video."

"Oh, it's too late for that. Everyone's been calling all afternoon, telling her about how they saw you online."

Oh good god. "Is she ironing?"

"Yep. She's run out of clothes, so she's doing the curtains now."

I hung up with Grandma Mazur and pulled out my laptop, waiting impatiently for it to boot up and connect to the wifi. I opened Facebook to find over fifty new notifications and my news feed clogged up with the same video, in which I'd been tagged over and over. Someone had filmed the entire ordeal on their cell phone, from my climb to my rescue, and then uploaded it. I snapped the laptop closed and wished for more ice cream to magically appear.


	4. Chapter Four

FOUR

The next day, I drove to Celia's house, surprised to find Lula's red firebird already parked outside. I knocked on the door and heard Celia yell, "Come in!"

Cautiously, I opened the door and stuck my head in. Nothing dive bombed me, so I stepped inside. Polly sat inside her cage in the living room, watching a big screen TV intently. Lula and Celia were spread out on the living room floor, surrounded by stacks of poster board and a pile of Sharpie markers.

"Hey, Steph. You want to help us make Occupy posters for the march on the impound lot tomorrow?" asked Lula.

"Umm, thanks, but I need to take Celia to get rescheduled. Remember?"

Celia stood up, dusting off her knees. "I remember. Just let me get my purse. You okay staying here with Polly until I get back?" she asked Lula.

"Sure thing," Lula replied. "I'm going to Google some more catchy chants to write on our signs."

I drove Celia to the police station and called Connie. "I have Celia Mileski at the station and she wants to get bonded out again. She only missed her court date because her car is still impounded. If she doesn't have her car back by her next court date, I've promised to drive her."

"Vinnie's already down there. I'll text him to let him know."

I'd been sitting in the small waiting room for just over two hours when Morelli appeared. He plopped down into the chair next to me and handed me a glazed donut on a paper plate.

"Is this a bribe?" I asked.

"Maybe."

I took a bite anyway.

"I heard you are here with the parrot lady."

"Yeah. Her car is still impounded, so I'm going to give her a ride home once Vinnie bails her out again."

Morelli shook his head. "You are one of a kind, Cupcake."

"Oh, you might want to give the guys at the impound lot a heads up. Lula and Celia have gotten it in their heads that her civil rights are being violated. They plan to Occupy the impound lot tomorrow. The signs are already in production."

Morelli squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then reached into his pocket and popped a couple Rolaids into his mouth. "Thanks. I think."

I spotted Celia being escorted out by an officer. "There's Celia. I gotta go."

Morelli put a hand on my leg to keep me from standing up. "Steph, stop avoiding me, we need to talk."

"I know," I conceded. "After New Year's, I promise."

Morelli leaned over and kissed me softly before saying, "Whatever job you are doing for _him_ , please be careful." He stood up and walked away.

I drove Celia home and collected Lula, then drove to the bonds office. Connie cut me a check for my share of Celia's bond, which was pittance, but I took it none the less.

"Can you get me the address for CampTech?" I asked Connie. "It's listed as Fortecelli's last employer, but the address wasn't in the file. And is there a way to find out how he's been living for the last year?"

Connie did a quick search and wrote down the address for an industrial park in North Trenton on a sticky note. Then she typed George's name into another search program on her computer. "Looks like he hasn't worked anywhere since CampTech. No unemployment and he's not on welfare either."

I raised my eyebrows. "He's gotta be making his ends meet somehow. I want to drive by Frankie Rossi's house again," I told Lula. "Then I want to see if Johnny Barker is home."

We rolled past Frankie's home and parked a few houses down. The place looked quiet. I walked up to the door and knocked. My card and note were gone, so someone had been home. I waited a few minutes, then tried the knob, finding it locked.

"Want me to shoot the lock off?" Lula asked.

"No!" I peeked through a side window into Frankie's living room. A nice sized flat screen TV, currently off, hung on one wall and a worn, but still comfortable looking, sectional sofa faced it. Several magazines littered the coffee table, along with an open can of Yuengling Lager. Nothing to suggest anyone other than Frankie lived here.

I retrieved George's photo from the file in the Jeep and decided to knock on a few doors. Being the middle of the day on a Thursday, I didn't hold out much hope. This was a working neighborhood. The first two neighbors were a bust, but I got lucky on the house across the street.

A woman about my age, with green eyes and reddish blonde hair, opened the door just a crack, a security chain in place.

"Can I help you?" she asked cautiously.

I could hear Elmo singing in the background and the sound of a child laughing and singing along. I introduced myself and asked if she knew Frankie Rossi.

"The man who lives across the street?"

I nodded.

"Not well. He likes to bake. He'll bring over cookies and sometimes brownies for my son, but that's the most contact I have with him."

I showed her George's picture next. I watched her face as she looked at the photo and noticed her eyes widen ever so slightly. She shifted her weight and studied the photo for a few more seconds.

"I'm sorry, I've never seen that man," she told me, slightly breathless, before closing the door. Not quite a slam, but it felt rushed.

Lula and I walked back down her walk.

"I feel like she's lying," I said, going off nothing more than a gut feeling.

"Should we go back, put the squeeze on her?"

"No. I think she was scared."

We climbed back in the Jeep and headed toward Stark Street. Johnny Barker had an apartment near the beginning of Stark, which, if you had to live on Stark, was the better place to live. You still had to contend with hookers on the corners, but the drug dealers tended to congregate further down.

I parked as close to the run-down concrete apartment building as I could.

"Stay here," I told Lula, "and don't let anyone steal the Jeep." It might be the nicer section of Stark Street, but it was still Stark Street.

I put a pair of plasti-cuffs in my back pocket and hustled into the building. According to his file, Johnny Barker lived in 3C. Of course, there was no elevator. I started off taking the stairs two at a time, but by the time I hit the first landing my breathing grew heavy. I high kneed it up the second flight of stairs, stopping to catch my breath on the second landing. Clearly, my New Year's resolution needed to involve more exercise. I walked up to the third floor and collected myself before knocking on Johnny's door. No answer. I knocked again and listened. I heard nothing from inside the apartment. Looked like I'd climbed all those stairs for nothing.

At least Lula and the Jeep were still there when I stepped outside.

"No Johnny?" Lula asked as I slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine over.

"No Johnny."

"You want to go back to Rosie's tonight and try to nab him there again?"

"Not really. Do you?"

"I wouldn't mind. That bartender kept undressing me with his eyes and he wasn't too bad looking. Maybe I could get his number."

I tried not to roll my eyes. I didn't think the bartender had undressed Lula with his eyes, it was just impossible to look away from two hundred pounds of flesh crammed into a hot pink, size six mini skirt.

"I think someone tipped Johnny off last time, since he didn't show up until after he thought we left."

"We could go in late, like right before last call, and nab him while he's drunk and uncoordinated," Lula suggested.

"How about this. You go in near last call and then text me if he's there. You can try to get the bartender's number and I'll be waiting here to cuff him as he stumbles home."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

My cell phone screen showed quarter until two as I desperately tried to stay awake. I had my Jeep parked in front of Johnny's apartment building, with the engine and lights off. I had plasti-cuffs in my pocket and my cell phone in my hands, waiting on a text from Lula.

My phone buzzed, temporarily blinding me as the screen lit up.

**He's here.**

**Let me know when he leaves** , I texted back.

My head snapped up as my cell vibrated in my lap. I'd drifted off, but only for a few minutes. My phone showed the time as 2:03 AM.

**Elvis has left the building** , read Lula's message.

I put away my cell phone, grabbed my plasti-cuffs, and unlocked my car door.

A few minutes later, I saw movement down the street. Johnny Barker came into view, but he didn't come alone. A scantily clad, dark skinned woman hung on his arm. I recognized her from her street corner not far from here. As they got closer, I realized she was steadying him as he stumbled along.

I jumped from the Jeep as they reached the building next to Johnny's, yelling, "Stop, bond enforcement."

Johnny tried to run, but his feet didn't cooperate and he went down face first onto the sidewalk. I had the plasti-cuffs around his wrists, hauling him to his feet, when I heard the click of a gun being cocked.

I stood up slowly, pulling Johnny up with me, and found myself staring down the barrel of a tiny .22 revolver.

"I'm bond enforcement and he's in violation of his bond," I said calmly to the hooker holding the weapon.

"I don't care," she said. "He was going to pay me twenty bucks to suck his cock. You can haul him back to the pokey once our business transaction is complete."

"How about this," I proposed. "I give you twenty-five bucks, you don't have to suck anyone's cock, and I haul him off to the pokey now."

"Forty."

"Thirty. Final offer."

"Deal." She shoved the gun down the front of her shirt.

"Aren't you worried you're going to accidently shoot a boob off?" I asked her as I steered Johnny toward the Jeep. He remained pretty dazed from the alcohol and falling on his face.

"Nah." She lifted her shirt to show me the little holster sitting squarely between her breasts, clipped onto her bra.

"Nifty."

"Yeah, it's even got a trigger guard and everything." She pulled her shirt back down and adjusted her breasts. "These babies are a business asset, I'm not gonna let anything happen to them."

I wrestled Johnny into the back seat of the Jeep. His chin bled from where he'd hit the pavement. I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and dug out a ten and a twenty, handing them to Johnny's hooker.

"Nice doing business with you," she said, stuffing the bills into her bra and sashaying away down the sidewalk.

I climbed into the Jeep and eyed Johnny in the rear-view mirror. He had his head against the window and appeared to be more than half way to a drunken stupor. I cranked the engine over and drove Johnny to the police station, collected my receipt, headed home, and fell into bed.


	5. Chapter Five

FIVE

I woke up a little after ten Friday morning, took a leisurely shower, made some coffee, ate a bowl of cereal, and eventually rolled into the bonds office around noon. Just Connie and Vinnie occupied the office.

"You find George Fortecelli yet?" Vinnie asked, sticking his head out of his office.

"No, but I brought in Johnny Barker last night." I handed my body receipt to Connie so she could cut me a check.

"I don't care about Barker," Vinnie shot back. "There's a lot of money riding on Fortecelli. I want him brought in before the new year."

"Then you better haul him in yourself," I replied, "cause I'm going out of town for the weekend."

Vinnie huffed, grumbled, and locked himself in his office. Connie rolled her eyes and handed me my check for Barker.

"Where you going?" she asked.

"New York City. Ranger asked me to help out with a personal security job."

Connie's eyes got big and she fanned herself. "Talk about starting the new year off right."

Yeah, tell me about it. "Have you seen Lula today?" I asked to steer the conversation away from Ranger.

Connie shook her head, so I called Lula.

She answered after a few rings, "What's up?"

"Just checking to make sure you're okay," I said.

"I'm more than okay. Turns out I didn't need to get that bartender's number. He lives right around the corner, so we went back to his place after Rosie's closed."

I tried unsuccessfully to avoid a mental picture of what followed. "You want to ride shotgun while I go to CampTech to ask about Fortecelli?"

"Nah, I think I'm gonna get stuff ready for the Occupy the Impound Lot protest this afternoon. I made a group for it on Facebook and I think we're gonna get a real good turn out. See you there."

Damn. I'd forgotten that was today.

"Um, yeah, see you there." With any luck, I'd get a good lead on Fortecelli and a good excuse to skip the protest.

I hung up, wished Connie a Happy New Year, and left the bonds office. I stopped by my bank to deposit my check, then headed to the industrial park that houses CampTech. A gated entrance with a security shack guarded the only way in or out of CampTech's property.

I pulled up to the guard house and rolled down my window. A bored looking guard sat inside, playing solitaire on a desktop computer.

"Can I help you?" the guard asked.

"I need to speak with HR about a former employee."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes."

The guard gave me an appraising look. "I don't have any appointments on my log."

"Okay, no, I don't have an appointment. Do I really need one just to talk to HR?"

The guard gave me an apologetic I-don't-make-the-rules shrug. "Unfortunately, you do. We had some problems about a year and a half ago, and we really had to ramp up security. Here," he handed me a business card out the window, "just give this number a call and see if you can set up an appointment."

I backed away from the guard booth and into the road, drove a few hundred feet, then pulled over. I called the number on the card and got to an automated system. I immediately pressed zero and soon spoke to a general receptionist, who transferred my call to HR. The HR secretary asked me my business, and when I explained who I was and why I wanted an appointment, abruptly told me that employee files are confidential and hung up.

I was still trying to decide where to go from here when Lula called.

"Can you pick up Celia and bring her to the Occupy protest? I was supposed to get her, but I've got a car full of my neighbors who want to come."

"Sure." Looked like fate would make sure I went to this protest.

I drove back to the Burg and pulled in front of Celia's house. I helped her load some signs into the back of the Jeep and then I drove her toward the impound lot. We were about two blocks away when we hit the road block. Trenton PD had the road closed.

"I hope this isn't a tactic to try to deter people from protesting," remarked Celia as I cut down a side alley and started looking for a place to park. There were cars everywhere and even a few charter buses. I spotted Lula's red Firebird ahead and found a spot on the street a few cars farther up. Celia and I gathered up her signs and hiked the sidewalk toward the impound lot. We passed several satellite news vans.

I heard the people before I saw them. Hundreds of voices chanted together, though I couldn't make out the words. Half a block from the impound lot, I spotted the sea of bodies. There were easily several hundred protesters clogging the sidewalks and street around the police impound lot.

"Wow. Lula said she thought she was going to get a good turn out, but I didn't expect this," gasped Celia. "Guess I'm not the only one who's fed up with the police taking my stuff."

"I think this goes a little beyond just impounding cars," I returned, gaping at the protest. The signs I could read had very little to do with the Trenton PD and their impound policies and a lot more to do with anti-police sentiment in general. A new chant started, this one easily understandable: fuck the cops. The crowd worked itself into a frenzy. A line of police worked the perimeter of the protest, and I could tell from their faces they were worried. The news crews were out and about, interviewing the protestors and capturing video footage.

"I think we need to leave," I told Celia.

"We just got here! What about my car? What about occupying the impound lot?"

Someone yelled, "free the cars!" and a hundred people threw their weight against the metal chain link fence surrounding the impound lot. It swayed ominously before bouncing back into place.

I saw someone in a bright orange police vest moving toward us. It took me a minute to realize it was Morelli.

"This is a powder keg," he told me sternly, wearing his cop face. "The state police are on their way with riot gear. If it doesn't explode before then, it will when they show up. I want you out of here, now!"

For once, he'd get no argument from me. "What about you? You're wearing a big orange target on your chest."

Morelli's eyes softened. "Good to know you care. I don't want to be here either, but I don't get a choice."

"Be careful," I told him, before rashly kissing him.

I heard someone near us yell, "Cop Lover! Get her!"

Something collided with the side of my head and I felt cold slime dripping down my face. I touched my fingers to the slime and realized it was a raw egg. Two more eggs exploded against my torso. Morelli instinctively moved between me and the protestors, and I heard several eggs splat against his back.

At the same time, a squeal of metal signaled the impound lot fence finally crashing down under the weight of the protesters. Somewhere, a shot rang out and everyone froze for a second before complete bedlam broke out. Half the protesters broke for their cars, others poured into the impound lot, prying open car doors and breaking windows. The truly stupid decided to engage the police with eggs and rocks.

"Go!" Morelli yelled, pushing me into the stream of people running away.

"Don't get shot," I shouted as he disappeared into the melee.

I dropped the signs and let the flow of people take me away from the insanity. I lost Celia in the crush of people, but found her waiting at the Jeep. I looked back up the street and saw Lula walking toward her Firebird and breathed a sigh of relief.

"How did you get that many people to come?" I demanded of her.

Lula shrugged. "I made an event on Facebook called Occupy the Impound Lot and I made it public, and it just took off. People were sharing it like crazy. Someone put together a bus of people to come in from Philadelphia and another from Newark and New York. People want to stand up for their rights."

"That became a riot," I fired back.

"Yeah, I guess it did get a little out of control at the end. But I think we made our point."

I drove Celia home, then returned to my apartment. I got a text from Morelli letting me know the situation was now under control and he was safe. I showered to get the egg out of my hair, then put on pajama pants and a loose t-shirt without a bra. I became a vegetable on my couch for the rest of the night. Blessedly, I didn't appear in any of the protest footage on the nightly news.

* * *

The morning of New Year's Eve I put in a half-hearted effort to track down George Fortecelli through social media. Facebook provided a digital way to stalk FTA's and I could do it in my pajamas. People liked to "check-in" places, post pictures, and tag each other. It was a bounty hunter's dream come true.

I turned on my laptop and logged into Facebook. Happily, I no longer trended for the tree rescue incident. I typed Fortecelli's name into the search bar and soon found his page. He knew how to use privacy settings, unfortunately, so I couldn't see much. We had no mutual friends. I tried Frankie next. Frankie wasn't as tight with his security. His last couple of posts were memes against big pharma, and a link to an article about how the government and big pharma were covering up the cure for cancer. I scanned his list of friends and saw a face I recognized, the female neighbor who'd said she only had contact with him when he brought over baked goods.

I clicked her picture and discovered her name was Andrea Grayson. Out of curiosity, I went back to George's profile and scanned his friends. I found Andrea again. I sent her a friend request, figuring it was a long shot, but some people will friend anyone. I also sent friend requests to a few other random people. Maybe being internet famous would prove useful. Inevitably, someone would accept the request and I could snoop a bit deeper into George's life.

A little after noon, I packed an overnight bag, showered, dressed in Rangeman black, then wolfed down some of my mother's Christmas leftovers. I filled Rex's water bottle and gave him some extra food. "I'll be back tomorrow or the day after," I told him. He looked at me with wide black eyes, shoved the food into his cheek pouch, and ran out of sight.

I waited outside, bouncing on my heels, when Ranger pulled up in his Porsche 911 Turbo. I tossed my bag into the trunk and slid in next to him. He handed me a manila folder. I opened it to find a photo of a scrawny, spectacled young man with slightly straggly brown hair.

"Is this the stalker?"

Ranger nodded as I looked over the notes on twenty-two-year-old Aaron Grathy. Former NYU student, until he dropped out, with a 4.0 GPA majoring in computer science. No history of violence or a criminal record. A little nerdy, but otherwise not a guy I would have pegged to send a dead rabbit and threatening notes to some girl he had a crush on.

"He doesn't seem that scary," I commented to Ranger. "You really think he's a viable threat?"

"I think he's got a few screws loose, and those kinds of people can be the most dangerous. But if you're asking if I'm wearing a flak jacket on this assignment, no, I don't think he's that kind of a threat."

A little over an hour and a half later, we pulled under the awning of the Waldorf Astoria in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Ranger retrieved both our bags and tossed the key to the valet.

Ranger checked us in while I gaped at the elaborate lobby like an overseas tourist. He handed me a key card and I followed him into an elevator, watching in awe as the numbers kept climbing. When we got out and he opened the door to our suite, my jaw promptly hit the floor. The room was huge, with a large sitting area. The bedroom contained a massive king-sized bed. Lavish red and gold hues decorated the space and the open curtains revealed a breathtaking view of the city.

I fell backwards, spread eagle onto the bed, giggling, "I can't believe we are staying at the Waldorf freaking Astoria!"

Ranger gave me an amused half smile before his eyes darkened. He leaned against me on the bed, lightly brushing his lips on mine. "We have some time. We could begin our celebration a little early."

The kiss deepened and his hands slid up my shirt and under my bra. His hand worked the clasp in the back when a loud knock sounded on our door. Ranger cursed under his breath, but got up to answer it anyway. I recognized the voice of one of his men.

Ranger stuck his head into the bedroom, looking slightly irritated. "Come on out, it's tech time."

A big black box sat open on the table in the sitting room when I entered. It was full of surveillance gizmos and guns, all tucked neatly into niches in a foam block.

Ranger handed me a tiny ear piece. You don't need to put this in until you leave with Chantelle for the restaurant. It will let us hear you and you hear us. He took it back from me, popped it into a tiny case and handed it back. I slipped it into my pants pocket.

Next, Ranger pulled a black 9mm Glock handgun out of the box.

"Is that for me?" I squeaked. It looked significantly larger than the compact, five shot .45 revolver hidden in my cookie jar.

"Babe." I took that as a resounding 'no.' Ranger dropped the empty mag and pulled back on the slide, checking to make sure it was empty. He leveled it at the far wall, testing the sights before pulling the trigger with a quiet click. Satisfied, he pulled out a loaded mag and jammed it into place, pulling back on the slide to load a bullet into the chamber. He then slid the gun into a holster on his right side. The weapon became invisible as he tugged his shirt back down.

"This is for you," he said, retrieving a much smaller pistol from the box. It was matte black and only about the size of my hand. The words Walther PPS were imprinted on the slide. He dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber before handing it to me. I couldn't believe how slim and light it felt.

"This is only for last resorts," he told me, locking my eyes with a serious gaze. "The paperwork required after firing a gun in city limits is complicated. If you don't absolutely need to use it, don't." He pulled a small holster from the black box. "This is an inside-the-waist holster. I don't want you carrying in your purse. You'll never get to it in time if you do need it."

Ranger moved behind me and lifted my shirt, his fingers brushing against my skin ever so lightly, causing me to shudder. With his left hand steadying my hips, he slid the holster between my right hip and my pants, then pushed it forward slightly. Not quite an appendix carry position, but close. Lines of fire arced across my skin wherever he touched.

"How does that feel?"

"Hmmm."

"The holster, Babe, does it feel like it's in a natural position?"

I snapped out of it and pretended to draw an invisible gun from the holster. "I guess. Is drawing a gun ever supposed to feel natural?"

"Babe." He handed me a single stack magazine loaded with six 9mm bullets. "The smaller the gun, the worse the recoil. Remember that in case you do need to fire, and with only six shots, make them count. It doesn't have a safety, so if you pull the trigger, it will go bang."

I pushed the magazine into the gun and racked the slide, putting one into the chamber. Trembling slightly, I tucked the gun into the holster and pulled my shirt down, praying I wouldn't shoot myself in the leg by accident.

Ranger eyed me up. "Not bad. No one will know you are carrying."


	6. Chapter Six

SIX

Ranger spent another hour checking in with his men and making all final arrangements for tonight. A few minutes after five, Ranger led me to the nearest subway station to go meet Chantelle. It took close to half an hour to go the few stops we needed on the packed metro system. Back above ground, I followed Ranger to an upscale apartment building. He tapped in a few numbers on the security panel and the lock clicked, allowing us access to the building.

When Chantelle opened the door, my first impression suggested this girl would not have let me sit at her lunch table in high school. Her blonde hair, streaked with highlights, fell just past her shoulders in soft curls. She stood an inch taller than me and about three clothing sizes smaller. In short, she looked gorgeous, even dressed in a purple fuzzy bathrobe.

Chantelle greeted Ranger warmly. She gave me a cold nod.

Ranger introduced me, "Chantelle, this is Steph. She's going to keep close to you tonight."

Chantelle's eyes swept over me. "Not dressed like that, she isn't."

I looked down at my black jeans and stretchy black t-shirt, suddenly very self-conscious. "This is standard Rangeman attire," I defended.

"They won't let you into ESCA dressed like that. How are you going to protect me then?"

I looked to Ranger for back up, but he just shrugged with an amused half smile. "Guess you'll have to change, Babe."

Chantelle looked me over again. "I think I have some stuff that might fit you, back from when I was still fat."

I nearly choked. Ranger quickly bit back a laugh. I elbowed him hard in the ribs, hearing a satisfying groan before Chantelle dragged me away. She led me to a door in her bedroom, but when she opened it I nearly fell over. Her walk-in closet seemed almost as big as her bedroom. Racks circled three walls of the room. Shoes covered the entire far wall. At the center sat a big round cushioned ottoman and in the far corner a big three-sided mirror.

Chantelle began digging around in a corner of her closet.

"So how did you end up working for Ranger?" she asked as she inspected each piece of clothing. "You don't look like ex-military." It didn't sound like a compliment.

"I don't work for him full time," I replied. "He brings me on when he needs my special skill set."

"And that is?"

"Having boobs and a vagina."

Chantelle laughed and tossed a dress my direction. "Try this on."

She remained where she stood, clearly waiting, and I realized that I wouldn't be offered any privacy. Awkwardly, I pulled off my t-shirt. As I removed my holstered gun and set it very carefully on the ottoman, muzzle pointed away from both of us, Chantelle's eyes got wide.

"You know how to use that?"

"Yes," I replied, kicking off my black CAT boots and slipping off my jeans.

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

I struggled into the stretchy forest green dress she'd tossed me. "Yes," I grunted into the fabric, not bothering to hide my irritation. Chantelle seemed to get the hint and the questioning stopped.

"That looks pretty good on you," she gushed when my head finally emerged and I tugged the dress into place. "I'm so glad I didn't listen to my personal trainer when he told me to get rid of all my fat clothes. Here, let me help you zip it."

"It's a little tight in the chest," I commented after she got the zipper up. More cleavage than usual pushed over the scoop neckline. The hem hit mid-thigh, but at least it had long sleeves. The material hugged my curves and shimmered slightly as I moved. "I'm going to freeze when we get to Times Square."

"We're all changing after we eat," Chantelle told me. She rolled up my old clothes and stuffed them into a huge hobo bag. "Here, you can borrow this."

I looked down at my CAT boots. "I'm not sure this dress goes with my shoes."

Chantelle dug around on her shoe wall. A pair of sparkly silver flats landed by my toes. I looked at the size on their bottom, surprised to see mine. I stuffed my socks and boots into the hobo bag and slipped on the flats.

"Don't forget that," Chantelle motioned to my holstered gun.

I looked down at the dress. Didn't look like I would be able to carry it on me. I found a zippered pouch inside the hobo bag and slid the gun inside. It would take a miracle to find it in an emergency. Ranger wouldn't be happy with that, but that's what he gets for allowing Chantelle to turn me into her own personal Barbie.

"What are you wearing?" I asked.

"I can't decide," she moaned, moving to a different part of the closet.

"So how are you feeling about tonight? Worried about Aaron showing up?"

Chantelle shrugged. "He's an idiot if he does. I just don't get it. We had one history class together and he got put into my group on a project. I invited all six group members over here to work on it and he seemed nice. You know, in that nerdy kid kind of way. Then a few weeks later he starts telling everyone that I'm his girlfriend and we hooked up. So, I stood up for myself and told him that I was out of his league. People like me don't go out with people like him. And next thing I know, he's in all my classes this semester. So, I transferred to different classes, and he transfers too. He starts calling and texting me all hours, leaving sticky notes on my door. That's when I got the restraining order and the building changed their access code. I thought that would be the end of it, and then the creepy gifts started arriving. I never thought it would get to this point. What do you think about this one?"

I blinked, mind trying to keep up with her change of direction as I focused on the pink mini dress she held up. "It's pretty," I replied.

Chantelle looked at it for a few more minutes before she finally slipped out of her robe and pulled on the dress. She yanked a pair of matching pink heels off her shoe wall and threw a pair of flats, leggings and a long sweater into another hobo purse.

"Come on," she said to me, "we need to do something about your hair."

As we exited Chantelle's bedroom, I saw Ranger's head swivel my direction, a smile dancing on his lips.

"You so owe me for this," I growled in his ear as I passed him.

"I owe William Robinson a discount for this," he replied, grabbing my ass.

At six-thirty, Chantelle, Ranger, and I left her apartment. I had my ear piece in and could hear Tank and the rest of Ranger's Merry Men chatting. Ranger's voice suddenly buzzed in my ear, telling Tank to bring the SUV around to the front of Chantelle's building.

We waited in the lobby until Tank confirmed his position in front of the building with no sight of Aaron. Ranger ushered Chantelle out of the building and straight into the black SUV. Tank maneuvered us through the gridlocked streets, but it proved impossible to get near the restaurant, as it fell into the zone closed to traffic on New Year's Eve. Instead, Tank dropped us near a subway entrance.

After a crowded, but uneventful subway ride, we returned to street level and walked to the restaurant. Ranger's men set up surveillance locations around the eatery, watching all entrances and exits. Ranger had already arranged for a reserved space at their bar, that way he could keep an eye on things inside. I provided the last layer of defensive for Chantelle if Aaron somehow managed to wriggle through.

The restaurant, ESCA, featured high end seafood and steaks. We met up with a group of Chantelle's friends outside. After much screeching, hugging, and complimenting of outfits, Chantelle introduced me as her bodyguard and we went inside.

Ranger's voice buzzed in my ear as we were led to our table. "Sit where you can see most of the restaurant, with your back to the wall. Put Chantelle next to you at the end of the table, in case you need to get her out fast. There is an emergency exit to the left of your table."

The maître de led us to a huge rectangular table in a back corner of the restaurant. I followed Ranger's instructions and sat with my back to the wall, Chantelle next to me at the end of the table.

I looked at the menu and balked at the prices.

"Who is paying for my dinner?" I whispered, hoping my ear piece would pick it up.

"Rangeman," came the reply.

I grinned and ordered the seventy-five-dollar filet mignon and lobster surf and turf when the waitress took our orders.

An exasperated, "Babe," came through my ear piece.

Dinner ended uneventfully. Chantelle and her friends ordered a steady stream of fruity cocktails and shots, so were all rather tipsy by the time the check arrived. They all piled into the small bathroom and changed out of their mini skirts and dresses. I felt more than happy to be back in my black jeans, black t-shirt, and boots. I pulled the gun out of the hobo purse and slide it back into my waistband, then bundled up in my winter coat, hat, scarf, and gloves.

Ranger appeared magically next to me as we left the restaurant. One moment I couldn't spot him anywhere and the next thing I knew, the scent of Bulgari Green surrounded me, making his presence known. We walked to Times Square, joining a throng of other revelers on the sidewalk. I spotted Tank, Bobby, Hal and a few more of Ranger's men spaced out around us in the crowd. We went through the VIP checkpoint to get into Times Square and were led to a reserved space near the front of one of the performance stages. Ranger and I were herded into the space with Chantelle and her friends, while the rest of the Merry Men spread out to various predesignated points around the area.

Ranger could maintain his professional persona in any situation. Good thing, because I found it hard not to get swept up in the emotion of the giant party. The performers were right there, how could I not dance and sing along? As the ball dropped, I counted down with thousands of others in the square. A collective cheer went through the crowd as the clock hit zero and 'Happy New Year' flashed across all the screens. Ranger grabbed my arm, pulling me into him for a heated kiss. It lasted only a few seconds before he turned all business again. But it left me tingling all over and suddenly eager to be back in our room in the Waldorf Astoria.

Within minutes after the ball drop, Times Square began to clear out. The impossibly huge crowd just seemed to melt away, leaving only litter and confetti as proof they'd been here in the first place. Already, police moved barriers, reopening the streets. And yet the feel of Ranger's kiss still sizzled on my lips.

We followed Chantelle and her friends toward the nearest subway station. Ranger stood to her right, eyes sweeping across the other revelers stumbling along the street. I walked a few feet away, pretending I knew what I was doing as a perimeter guard.

Two loud pops caused me to jump and Ranger to grab Chantelle's arm, but it was only a couple kids setting off celebratory bottle rockets from the top of a fire escape. The crowd grew thick again in the subway and it took three trains before we squeezed into a car like sardines. Our station couldn't come soon enough.

"I gotta pee," Chantelle slurred in my ear as the train approached her stop.

"You're almost home," I assured. The walk to her lush apartment only took a few blocks.

"Can't hold it," she gasped.

I had no desire to find out what condition a subway bathroom would look like after midnight on New Year's Eve, but it looked as if I was about to find out.

"We need a detour to the ladies' room," I whispered to Ranger as the doors slid open. I gripped Chantelle's arm, trying to prevent her from full out sprinting and losing me in the crowd. Ranger nodded and followed closely as Chantelle and I rushed up the stairs and past the turn styles. Weaving through the crowd, I followed Chantelle into the bathroom and waited for her to answer mother nature's urgent call.

"Thanks," she said as she washed her hands, swaying slightly in her inebriated state. I placed a steadying hand on her back, afraid she might topple as she sashayed back into the station. It was nearly empty. A man slept in one of the chairs against the far wall, his hoodie pulled over his head, apparently too drunk to make it home. Otherwise, it was just Ranger and his men.

"Let's get you home," I said to Chantelle, turning her gently toward the final set of stairs leading up to the street.

"Okeydokey." Drunk Chantelle complied so much easier than sober Chantelle.

The drunk man in the chair stirred as we walked past. His head bobbed up off his chest and I recognized Aaron. His hand slid out of his pocket, gripping a silver revolver. I blinked and he leveled the gun at Chantelle.

Ranger saw the gun the same time I did. With a shout, he pushed Chantelle to the ground with his right hand. I heard the first shots as I felt Ranger ram me, falling to the ground on top of me. My head bounced off the tile floor and stars erupted in front of my eyes. My ears rang as more gun shots echoed in the small space.

It all happened within ten seconds. I glanced over toward Aaron and saw him on the floor in a pool of blood. Tank stood over him, handgun still drawn. To my left, Lester pulled Chantelle to her feet, seemingly unharmed.

Ranger remained on top of me, a stunned expression on his face. I put my hand on the tile to push away and felt the warm, sticky blood before I saw it. Then I screamed.


	7. Seven

SEVEN

His men carefully rolled Ranger off me and onto his back. He had a hand pressed against his left side, but blood still spurted between his fingers. I tried to stand up, but my head spun and I sank back to my knees, crawling to Ranger's right side.

"How bad is it?" Ranger grunted as Bobby cut away his black coat and t-shirt. I swallowed against the rising bile. So. Much. Blood.

"Can't tell yet," Bobby returned, digging through a medic bag. He pulled out a small white pouch and ripped it open with his teeth. The writing on the front read QuikClot.

Ranger hissed as Bobby dumped the powder on the wound, where it instantly congealed. From behind me, I heard Tank yelling into a cell phone, demanding EMTs at the subway station. Ranger's right arm jerkily bumped into mine, so I took his hand and tried to give a reassuring squeeze. I knelt in his blood. My coat and shirt were covered in it, sticking them to my body.

"Help me roll him," Bobby ordered Lester. "I need to see if there is an exit wound."

Ranger groaned as Lester gently rolled him onto his right side, while Bobby searched for a possible exit wound. He ripped open another packet of QuikClot and poured it onto Ranger's lower back. Lester gently returned Ranger to his back.

I gave Ranger's hand another reassuring squeeze. "You're going to be okay," I stated. It was only one bullet. I'd seen an entire clip emptied into him and he'd lived. "You're going to be okay." He had to be okay. But his grip on my hand slackened and his eyes no longer focused on my face.

"Bobby!" I yelled. "Do something!"

Bobby grabbed Ranger's face. "Stay with me boss. Keep your eyes open. Fight it." But Ranger's hand went completely limp and his lids closed.

"Tank, I need an ETA on that ambulance!" Bobby shouted, feeling for a pulse on Ranger's neck.

"Three minutes," Tank replied.

"Jesus, he's lost too much blood. I don't know if he can wait that long."

My head spun. This couldn't be happening.

"What's his blood type?" I gasped.

"A positive," Bobby responded.

"I'm O negative," I breathed as biology class rushed back to me: the universal donor. A very picky recipient. My mother had always been terrified the hospital would be out of my blood type if one of my clumsy accidents led me to require any.

"You want to do a field transfusion?" Bobby asked.

"Can you do that?"

Bobby nodded, pulling a short coil of transparent plastic tubing out of his bag, along with two terrifying needles. I peeled off my coat, held out my right arm, and closed my eyes. I winced at the pinch of the needle in the crook of my arm. Something got shoved into my hand and I opened my eyes to see a foam block in my palm.

"Squeeze it slowly, then release and repeat," Bobby instructed.

I did it, and the clear tube filled with red. I swallowed more bile and squeezed again, watching my blood rush into Ranger's body.

"Good, just like that," Bobby encouraged. He took Ranger's pulse again.

In the distance, a siren wailed. A pair of cops rushed down from the street, halting when they saw the carnage in the station. Tank immediately began explaining what had happened, with frequent interjections from Chantelle of, "they saved my life!"

When the EMTs finally arrived, I felt woozy from donating so much blood. They immediately put an oxygen mask over Ranger's mouth and nose and strapped him to a back board. Both EMTs seemed impressed by Bobby's field transfusion.

"Military?" one asked as they prepared to move Ranger onto the gurney.

Bobby nodded. "Army Rangers."

The second EMT, a young woman, helped me to my feet and steadied me. "Just hang on to the gurney. We can start a new transfusion once we're in the ambulance."

I complied obediently, sitting down on the bench in the ambulance heavily, but never stopping squeezing away and pumping my blood into Ranger's arm. As soon as the ambulance doors were closed, the EMTs cut away the rest of Ranger's clothes. One inserted a new IV into his other arm, attaching it to a bag of blood hanging from an IV pole.

"You can stop now," the female EMT said gently. She took the piece of foam from my hand and held a piece of gauze to my arm as she swiftly removed the tubing. "Put your finger on the gauze, press, and hold your arm in the air," she instructed.

The male EMT had a clip board and started asking me questions about Ranger. "What's his name?"

"Ricardo Carlos Manoso, but he prefers Carlos." The EMT scribbled it onto the paper.

"Date of birth?"

"Umm," I gave the EMT his age. I knew Ranger was two months older than me, but I didn't know his exact date of birth.

"Anything he's allergic to?"

I shook my head. Now I felt like an idiot. "I'm sorry, I don't know. One of his employees might know."

"You're not one of his employees?" the female EMT asked.

"No, I'm his…" I searched for a term that might describe my relationship with Ranger, coming up empty. "Friend," I finished lamely.

The ambulance doors burst open before we fully stopped in front of the ER. A group of doctors and nurses quickly pulled Ranger's gurney from the ambulance and rushed it into the hospital, speaking in a medical language I couldn't hope to understand. Within a few seconds, he disappeared from my sight.

The female EMT helped me out of the ambulance and into a wheel chair, explaining my situation to the waiting nurse.

The nurse wheeled me through two sets of sliding glass doors and into an emergency bay. Curtains divided each bed and I couldn't see Ranger anywhere.

"Is Ranger going to be okay?" I asked the nurse.

"They're going to do everything they can for him," she assured, pushing me up to an empty bed and pulling the curtains shut behind us. She helped me into the bed and began taking my vital signs, frowning as she released my arm from a blood pressure cuff.

"That bad?"

"How long were you giving him blood?"

I shrugged and the room spun. "Seven, eight minutes, maybe. No more than ten. I think."

She checked my arm where Bobby had inserted the needle, and apparently finding it satisfactory, put a Band-Aid over the puncture site. "I'll be back in a few minutes with one of the docs," she said. "Don't try to get up."

No chance of that happening.

A young doctor wearing light blue scrubs and a white coat stepped through the curtains a few minutes later.

"Do you know how Ranger is?" I asked instantly.

"The man you came in with?"

I nodded, making the room begin revolving again.

"He's in surgery."

"Shouldn't you be in there helping?"

The doctor laughed lightly. "I assure you, he has the best trauma surgeons in the city working on him. You, on the other hand, are stuck with me."

He took my blood pressure again, and still finding it unimproved, warned that I'd have to get some IV fluids. I made a face but couldn't find the strength to argue. Soon an IV sprouted out of my left arm. A clear bag of liquid dripped through the tubing into my body.

Just a few minutes later, I felt better. At least the room had stopped spinning every time I moved. But a sick feeling inhabited the pit of my stomach over Ranger.

When my IV bag grew empty, the nurse took my blood pressure again. "Much better," she said. "We can take that IV out now."

I winced as she pulled the small tube from my arm and bandaged it. Then she handed me a tray with a glass of red liquid and a packet of vanilla sandwich cookies. "Get some sugar into your system."

I gave her one long incredulous look. "Really?" Doctors usually frowned upon junk food. As did Ranger. My stomach flip flopped.

"You've never donated blood before?" the nurse asked.

I shook my head. I wimped out when it came to needles. If I knew they gave you free junk food at the end, maybe I would have tried it. The only reason I knew my blood type was because I was such a klutz as a kid, my mother made me wear a bracelet with the information on it.

I nibbled on the cookies and sipped what turned out to be Kool-Aid. After another half hour, the doctor reappeared, checked my blood pressure one last time, and declared me fit for release.

I barely got past the discharge station when I found myself a victim of a massive bear hug. Looking up, I saw Tank's worried face.

"Bombshell, you okay?"

I nodded. "Have you heard anything about Ranger?"

Tank shook his head. "Last update was that they'd rushed him into surgery. That was an hour ago."

"Is there someone we should call? An emergency contact?"

"I already called his parents. They are wintering in Florida. His mom will be on the next available flight, but that might not be until tomorrow."

Peeking past Tank's massive shoulder, I saw the rest of the Merry Men sitting in the waiting room. I joined them, trying to ignore the caked blood coating my clothing. I knew I should go back to the hotel room to change, but the thought that an update on Ranger might come while I was gone kept me glued to the seat.

The interminable hours ticked by. A weary doctor in blood stained scrubs finally walked into the waiting room a few minutes before five AM. He said something to the triage nurse, who pointed toward us. I immediately elbowed Tank, who had nodded off in his chair. He jumped awake.

The doctor made his way over, face unreadable. "You're friends of Carlos Manoso?" When we nodded, he continued, "Carlos is out of surgery and in the ICU. The bullet clipped part of his kidney and renal artery, but we found and stopped the bleeding. Which one of you treated him in the field?"

Bobby raised his hand and the doctor reached out to give him a hand shake. "You saved his life. If it weren't for the QuikClot and the field transfusion, he would have bled out before he got to the hospital."

"When can we see him?" asked Tank.

"Unfortunately, the ICU has very strict rules for visitors. Family only. If his condition improves in the next few days, you'll be able to visit him once he's moved out of the ICU."

I couldn't handle the thought of Ranger lying in the ICU all alone. "I'm family," I blurted.

The doctor raised an eyebrow and looked me over. With no way to sell my white ass self as Ranger's sister, I went with the only relation I had any hope to pull off. "I'm his wife," I lied.

Please, oh please, don't make me prove it.

I saw the doctor glance at my left hand. "I don't wear my rings when I'm on the job," I explained hurriedly.

"I'll go back to the hotel and bring you a fresh set of clothes and your rings," Tank suddenly offered. I tried not to let my mouth fall open.

That seemed to sell it for the doctor. "Alright, Mrs. Manoso, I'll show you to the ICU."

Shaking slightly, I stood and followed the doctor back through the ER's double doors. I risked a quick glance behind my shoulder and saw Tank grinning at me. Lester gave me a thumbs up.

The doctor led me to a set of elevators requiring a key fob and we took them to the eighth floor. The doors opened to an immaculate lobby filled with a large circular nurses' station. The smell of antiseptic hung heavy in the air and a myriad of beeps droned from the many patient rooms. The lights were all dimmed to help the patients sleep.

"Please sign in, Mrs. Manoso," the doctor instructed, leading me to a clip board at the nursing station. I shakily wrote Stephanie Manoso under 'name', and wife under 'relationship'. Then the doctor led me to one of the glass fronted rooms.

"I warn you, we have Carlos heavily sedated and on a ventilator for now. His vitals have been erratic since leaving surgery. We won't be able to wake him unless they stabilize."

Despite the warning, I still couldn't hide my gasp as I got my first glimpse of Ranger, prone in the bed. Tubes seemed to be coming from everywhere, and the thick one running down his throat seemed especially terrifying. A heart monitor beeped in a corner of the room and multiple IV lines hung from two sets of poles on both sides of the bed. A thin white sheet covered Ranger up to his chest. Only his arms, poked full of needles and tubing, remained on top of the sheet. An automatic blood pressure cuff circled his right bicep. My Batman seemed so weak and helpless.

The doctor put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'd love to tell you that he'll make a full recovery, but he's not even close to being out of the woods yet. How his body responds to the trauma over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be crucial. If he has other close family, you may want to ask them to come sooner than later."

The doctor left and I pulled a chair over to the head of Ranger's bed. Careful not to bump any of the tubes, I took his hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Then I did something I don't do often. I prayed. Not that God had any good reason to listen. I've been pretty lax at keeping up with my end of the deal, seeing as I don't go to church and bounce between the beds of two different men like a pinball. Still, I prayed with a fervor I could only hope made up for all that.


	8. EIGHT

EIGHT

I woke with a startled gasp. I'd managed to fall asleep sitting up, my fingers still intertwined with Ranger's. Outside the room, I could hear two people talking softly.

"I don't really think she's his wife" a woman said skeptically. "I noticed she doesn't wear any rings. And I talked to one of the EMT's from the scene, and she told them she was just a friend."

"I don't think it matters," a man replied.

"But the rules say…"

"There are all kinds of family, Beth. When he came up from surgery, his heart rate charted all over the place, blood pressure kept dropping. It was touch and go there for a while. The moment she walked into his room, his heart rate stabilized and his blood pressure hasn't dropped once. You know what the presence of a loved one can do for a patient. She's good for him, whether they are legally married or not."

I feigned sleep as the doctor walked into the room to check on Ranger, but once he left I opened my eyes, sat up, and stretched. My back and neck cracked painfully. Nature called urgently and my stomach grumbled so badly it hurt. I wondered vaguely about the time. There weren't any windows to let in daylight, but looking around the room I found a round clock mounted above the doorway. It read 10:03.

I walked out to the nurse's station and asked an RN where I could find a bathroom. She pointed out a set of closed double doors. "Go to the end of the hallway and take a right. The bathrooms are right there. If you keep going, you'll find the public elevators. The cafeteria is on the fourth floor if you need something to eat."

I glanced back at Ranger's room. I had to pee. Eating seemed optional.

"You need to take care of yourself if you want to take care of him," the nurse added, following my line of sight.

I sighed. "Is the food in the cafeteria actually edible?"

The nurse grinned. "Stay away from the breakfast burritos. But the pancakes are pretty good. And the coffee isn't half bad."

I pushed through the double doors and hurried down the hallway. Turning the corner, I ran into a brick wall.

"Sorry," I apologized before realizing I'd run into Tank. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you some supplies," he replied, hefting a black backpack into my arms.

I unzipped it to find a change of clothes, my hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, purse, and cell phone. A small box sat on the top. I pulled the lid off to find a simple gold wedding band and matching diamond solitaire ring.

I gaped at Tank. "I thought you were just backing me up when you said you'd bring the rings. I never meant for you to actually get some!"

"If the surgeon checks, I wanted to make sure I followed through. Ranger will kill me when he finds out I bought them at Walmart, but it was the only place open this morning."

"I don't think he expects you to go to Tiffany's," I joked.

Tank gave me a stone-faced look in return.

"So, are the guys mad at me?" I asked.

"For what?"

"For lying to get in to see Ranger, when they can't."

Tank grinned. "Steph, if any of us could have convinced that doctor we were his wife, we would have done so. Better to have one of us here than none of us."

My heart swelled with pride to hear Tank refer to me as "one of us."

"So, how is he?" Tank continued.

I relayed what I'd overheard the doctor saying about his heart and blood pressure. The prognoses seemed to have improved greatly since earlier this morning. "Hopefully, they can stop the sedation today. Have you heard anything from his mother?"

Tank nodded. "She called me an hour ago. She's stuck in South Carolina, waiting for the airport to reopen from an ice storm. I'm supposed to call her with any updates."

By this time, I practically hopped from one foot to the other, fighting the urge to urinate. "You should do that, then," I said. "Thanks for bringing me some supplies. I'll call you if I get any more news."

Tank gave me a gentle hug and disappeared back toward the elevators. I hurried into the bathroom to finally relieve myself. Then I changed, throwing away my blood-stained clothes. I didn't want them as a reminder of the morning's horrific events. I washed my face in the sink, combed out my hair and pulled it back with an elastic band. Finally, I brushed my teeth. As I reached to zipper the bag closed, I remembered the rings. I slipped them onto the ring finger of my left hand. Tank had guessed well, they were only one size too small, but with a bit of wiggling they finally slid over my knuckle. It felt strange to wear rings again after so long, and I found myself instantly drawn to fidgeting with the jewelry.

Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I headed for the cafeteria, finding it half empty. Tired looking residents hunched over their coffee mugs or talked quietly in small groups. Several nurses walked by carrying take out containers, hurrying toward the elevators. I grabbed a tray and silverware before entering the ala carte chow line. I selected a plate of fluffy pancakes, along with a side of bacon. Bacon makes everything better. I added a cup of cubed fruit to my tray, thinking Ranger would approve. Finally, I got the largest size coffee they offered and headed to the cashier.

I took a seat by the jumbo windows overlooking the city. The sun shone brightly outside, but the tinted glass kept it from blinding the diners. Outside, New York bustled. Yellow cabs zipped by on the street and the occasional ambulance pulled up to the front of the hospital. People rushed past, most with their heads down and hoods up against the cold.

I nursed my coffee long after my food was gone. I could feel the caffeine starting to perk me up. It would be a long day. Throwing out my trash, I returned my tray and silverware to the wash station and headed back to the elevators. I passed a small gift shop, so I swung in and bought a trashy romance novel and a book of word finds to keep myself from going completely insane while I waited for Ranger to wake up.

The ICU remained much the same as I'd left it. The lights glowed a bit brighter in a feeble attempt to mimic the natural cycle of daylight. I dumped my bag in a corner of the room and pulled out the romance novel. Sitting on the edge of my chair, I brushed a stray piece of hair away from Ranger's face and gave his hand another gentle squeeze. Then I settled in to lose myself in my book.

A new doctor came in a little after two in the afternoon. He was tall and lean, and by the gray streaks in his hair, seemed to be in his middle sixties. "Mrs. Manoso, I'm Dr. Whintle," he introduced, offering me his hand.

I shook it, saying, "Please, call me Steph."

Dr. Whintle checked all of Ranger's vitals and wrote them into a chart that hung on the foot of the bed. He looked over all the entries carefully. "It seems Carlos' vital signs have been stable and improving for the last eight hours. I think it's safe to start bringing him out of the sedation."

"Really?" I asked, unable to hide my excitement. I put my book down and took Ranger's hand.

"Really, but the process will take several hours. And I must warn you, he'll likely be very disoriented when he wakes and in quite a bit of pain."

"Can't you give him pain medication?"

"We will," Dr. Whintle assured, "but it will only help take the edge off. Unfortunately, sedation is the only way to allow him to remain completely pain free." The doctor fiddled with one of Ranger's IV's, causing whatever was dripping into it to drip more slowly. "A nurse will check on him every half hour."

I sat with Ranger for a few minutes before deciding I should call Tank and give him an update. I grabbed my cell phone and headed out into the hallway. Turning on the screen, I found several text messages waiting for me. Lula, Connie, my best friend Mary Lou, and my sister Valerie had all wished me a happy new year. So had Morelli.

I tried not to think about Morelli and my promise that we'd talk after New Year's. Life suddenly seemed way more complicated than a few days ago. Not to mention my current charade as another man's wife.

I closed my text messages and called Tank.

"What's the news?" he immediately asked, sounding tense.

"His vitals have been stable and improving, so the doctor is stopping the sedative. Ranger should wake up in a few hours. Anything new from his mom?"

"She'll be on a four PM flight out of South Carolina. We should have her to the hospital by ten tonight."

Once Ranger's mom arrived, I could go back to the hotel and take off the fake Walmart wedding rings. I could head back to Trenton and have make up sex with Morelli.

So why didn't that seem appealing in the least?

After talking with Tank, I used the bathroom again then walked to the cafeteria. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, so an early dinner was in order. I found a pasta bar and loaded up on spaghetti, red sauce, meatballs and garlic bread. Nothing like carbs to improve my mood. After I ate, I swung by the gift shop again to buy a pack of gum. I didn't want Ranger to wake up to my hideous garlic breath.

Just after six, as I found myself deeply absorbed in the adventures of my slutty heroine, Ranger groaned. I dropped the book immediately and grabbed his hand. The beeps on the heart monitor suddenly became alarmingly close together. The hand I wasn't holding reached for his throat, scrambling at the ventilator taped to his mouth.

"Nurse!" I shouted, trying to pull Ranger's hand away from his face. Cripes, how could he still be so strong? "Ranger, you're on a ventilator. You can't pull it out or you'll hurt yourself."

His hand stilled and I pushed it back down onto the bed.

"Ranger, can you hear me?" His fingers squeezed mine lightly and my breathing hitched. The nurse hurried into the room. "He was trying to pull out the ventilator," I told her, "but he stopped when I told him he'd hurt himself." She quickly scurried from the room.

The beeps on Ranger's monitor slowed again and his eyes gradually opened. After a few blinks, his brown eyes locked with mine and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm so happy you're awake," I told him, blinking back tears.

Dr. Whintle strolled in, followed by the nurse. "Mr. Manoso, it's good to see you finally awake. I'm Dr. Whintle. I'm going to remove the ventilator tube. It will likely cause some mild discomfort, but I'd like you to try to remain calm."

I had to avert my eyes or risk losing my dinner while Dr. Whintle removed the ventilator tube, but I kept my hand firmly around Ranger's. Once the tube was out of his throat, the nurse brought a plastic cup of ice water over. She put a straw through the lid and gave Ranger a few sips.

"Your throat will likely be sore for the next few days," Dr. Whintle warned. "Try not to talk." Then he guided Ranger's other hand over to a small button taped to the side of the bed. "This is your morphine button. If you feel you need an extra boost for the pain, you can press it and it'll release more into your IV."

Ranger moved his hand back to the mattress without pressing the button. "Don't be a hero," I scolded. "If you need to push the button, push the button." He rolled his eyes at me.

Dr. Whintle chuckled. "Your wife has remained by your side since you came out of surgery. Listen to her."

I held my breath, but Ranger kept his face blank of any surprise. Dr. Whintle left and Ranger turned his head toward me, amusement tugging on the corner of his lips.

"Wife?" he rasped.

My face flushed. "Only family is allowed in the ICU. They weren't going to allow any of us in to see you, so I might have told a little white lie."

A small smile lit up his face. "Babe." He squeezed my left hand and paused when he felt the rings. Slowly, he lifted my hand up to his face and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Tank thought it would sell the wife thing better," I explained in a rush.

Ranger squinted at the rings. "Not what I would have picked out," he croaked.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Do you remember what happened?" I asked. He didn't seem to be curious about why he was in the ICU, but you could never tell with Ranger.

"Got shot," he grunted.

I nodded. "You stepped in front of Chantelle, took a bullet for her."

Ranger shook his head slowly. "No, Steph, I took a bullet for you."

My face must have registered my shock, because Ranger chuckled lightly. "You were the one standing between Chantelle and Aaron," he rasped.

I thought back to the wee hours of the morning, trying to picture the subway station in my mind. I stood on Chantelle's right, and Aaron appeared to my right. Ranger was correct. I had stood between the mad man and his target. Tears welled in my eyes.

Ranger slowly lifted his hand to my face, brushing away an errant tear. "Babe."

I carefully took his hand in mine again, laying it on the bed. "You're talking too much. You need to rest."

Ranger's mouth twitched into a small smile, but he didn't argue. Instead he curled his fingers with mine and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, I heard his breathing become soft and slow and knew he'd fallen asleep.

I let go of his hand just long enough to text Tank an update.

Ranger's mother arrived just before ten. Tank texted me when he picked her up from the airport, so I knew to expect her. She signed in at the nurse's station, then came immediately to Ranger's room. I stood up, offering her my chair.

"No thank you, dear. I've been sitting for the last four hours." Her words rang thick with a Cuban accent. Even though she stood a few inches shorter than me, with a petite frame, I saw a lot of Ranger in her appearance. They shared the same cheek bones, mouth, and eyes. She leaned over Ranger's sleeping form, gently brushing hair back from his forehead before kissing him lightly. Ranger stirred and his eyes cracked open.

"Mama?"

"You gave us all quite a scare, hijo."

"You shouldn't have come."

She gave him a stern look. "I'll have no more of that. I'm here and that is that."

Ranger smiled and sank back into sleep.

Mrs. Manoso looked over at me. "Dear, you look dead on your feet. Call Tank and have him take you back to the hotel." I nodded. Ranger's real family had arrived, no reason for me to stay.

I picked up my bag and gift shop purchases, then texted Tank. He replied that he'd be on his way in a few minutes.

The real Mrs. Manoso stopped me on my way out, pulling me into a motherly hug. "Stephanie, thank you for staying with Carlos. Tank told me you had to lie, but I'm very glad you did it. I'd hate to think of him here alone."

I blushed. "I meant no disrespect," I began but she shushed me.

"Family isn't just blood ties or legal bindings. It's a shame this hospital doesn't recognize that. Go, get some sleep, then come back in the morning. I'll take the night shifts."

I signed out at the nurses' station and rode the elevators down to the main lobby. Tank waited in a black Rangeman SUV outside the main doors. I crawled into the passenger seat and dropped my bag at my feet.

"Any news?" Tank asked.

I yawned before answering. "He refuses to take any extra morphine. And he says the rings aren't what he would have picked."

"Fuck. I'm going to have to go into witness protection before he gets out."

We reached the hotel and Tank walked me to my room. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything."

I slid my key card and walked into the room. A maid had left a table lamp on, so I didn't have to fumble in the dark. I dropped my bag on the bed and slogged into the bathroom. I turned the shower on, letting the steam fill up the bathroom as I stripped. I stood under the hot water until I started to prune.

I took the time to blow dry my hair, only because I knew I would never tame it again the next day if I went to bed with it wet. I opened my suitcase and pulled on a t-shirt and yoga pants, then crawled into the empty king bed. The suite felt too large for just one person. As I slipped into sleep, I couldn't help but think how much warmer the bed would feel with Ranger next to me, consequences be damned.


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

I woke to knocking. It took a few seconds for me to recall my location and the reason I found myself alone in a king-sized bed. I glanced at the bedside clock just in time to see 8:59 turn to 9. The knocking sounded again. I got out of bed and peeked through the peep hole. Tank stood in the hallway.

I opened the door.

"Sorry, Steph. I didn't mean to wake you, but I wanted to tell you that the guys and I are checking out and heading back to Trenton. I talked to Ranger this morning, on his mother's cell, and he needs me to keep Rangeman running and see to the other clients. Your room is booked for as long as you need it. I'm taking the Porsche back, but leaving one of the SUVs here for you." He handed me a valet ticket. "Just keep me posted on Ranger, okay?"

"Of course," I replied and Tank pulled me into another bear hug.

After Tank left I got dressed and ordered breakfast from room service. As I waited for it to be delivered, I called Connie to let her know I wouldn't be into the office for a few days. I called my mom, so she wouldn't worry. And then I reluctantly called Morelli, because he was the only one with a spare key to my apartment and someone needed to feed Rex.

"Good morning, Cupcake."

"Joe, I need a favor."

"Is it a sexual favor?"

I rolled my eyes. "No. I'll be in New York longer than expected, and I need someone to feed Rex."

After a beat of silence, "You want me to feed your hamster while you're with another man? If you want your hamster fed, you'll just have to choose between Rex and him."

I tried to keep my voice calm, with mixed results. "I'm in New York longer than expected because Ranger got shot."

"What?"

"Ranger got shot. He's in the ICU. And he got shot because he stepped in front of me so I didn't get shot. But if you'll just drop my apartment key off at my parents' house, I'll have my mom feed Rex. Thanks." I hung up before Morelli could reply.

Then I called my mother again to give her a heads up about Rex. While talking to her, Morelli tried to call me back. I sent it directly to voice mail.

My anger had cooled slightly by the time I arrived back at the hospital. I took the elevator back to the eighth floor and signed in at the nurse's station. I walked into Ranger's room and couldn't help but beam as I found him sitting up in his bed. He and his mother spoke quietly in Spanish.

"Good morning, wife," he said with a smile.

"I'm glad one of us finds this situation funny," I replied as I sat down in the chair next to his bed. "You look so much better," I noted. Since I'd seen him the night before, at least half of the tubes and IVs in his arms had been removed and the color had returned to his face.

"The doctor says they might be able to move him out of the ICU tomorrow if he continues to improve," said Ranger's mother.

"And go home within the week," Ranger added.

"Only if you don't overexert yourself," returned his mother pointedly.

"I know, Mama. Now, go get yourself something to eat and some sleep."

"Tank and the others had to go back to Trenton this morning, but I'll drive you back to your hotel," I offered, but Ranger's mother waved me off.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking a taxi." She kissed Ranger tenderly on his forehead and left.

Once she was out of ear shot, Ranger turned to me and said, "I really wish Tank hadn't called her. It's not good for her to worry so much about me."

"He had to call her. You nearly died."

"From what I heard, I would have died, if not for you."

I looked down awkwardly, unsure of what to say. "Bobby gets most of the credit," I finally mumbled.

Ranger lifted my chin so I had to meet his gaze. "You literally poured your life into my body. That is not easily repaid."

"I don't want to be repaid. You've swooped in to rescue me so many times, I've lost count. It's still pretty lopsided in your favor."

"Babe, I don't keep count, and neither should you."

* * *

Ranger improved enough to be discharged from the ICU the next morning and moved to a general inpatient floor. Three days later, on Friday morning, they released him to go home, with a strict warning that he couldn't do anything but rest for the next two weeks. According to Ranger, the boredom had the potential to be deadlier than the bullet. His mother insisted on returning to Trenton with us, to make sure Ranger got settled in before her flight back to Florida on Sunday evening. Ranger seemed less than thrilled with this arrangement, but even he couldn't dissuade her.

A crowd of men, along with my black Rangeman Jeep, waited in the parking garage at the Rangeman building when I arrived with Ranger and his mother. It looked like every guy on the day shift came out to greet their boss.

Ranger climbed out of the passenger side of the SUV gingerly, took one look at his men, and shouted, "What, I'm gone for a few days and suddenly there's no work to do?"

His men scattered back into the building.

"They've been worried about you," I scolded.

"I know. Still not a good reason to not be working."

"Vinnie agrees," I replied. "If I don't bring in a few skips today and tomorrow, he's threatening to find someone else."

"Tell him he won't like my reaction if he fires my wife," Ranger joked.

I looked down at my hand. I'd grown so used to the rings I'd almost forgotten I had them on. "I guess I better give these back." I gave them a tug. The rings didn't budge. I tried to wiggle them over my knuckle, but they were well and truly stuck. "Oh no. I can't get them off!"

The biggest smile I'd ever seen graced Ranger's face. "I wish I could be there when Morelli sees you with those."

"Do you want to get shot again?" I asked, adding, "Morelli is never going to know about this. I'll figure out a way to get them off."

"Try olive oil," suggested Ranger's mother.

"Thanks, I'll stop and get some on the way home. Call me if you need anything."

She pulled me into a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. Not to be outdone, Ranger also pulled me close for an intense kiss.

"Thank you, Steph," he whispered as he released me.

I climbed into my borrowed Jeep and headed back toward my apartment. I stopped at Giovichinni's as I passed through the Burg and bought a sub for lunch and a bottle of olive oil.

I set the olive oil on the counter as I entered my apartment and said hello to Rex. Only to realize a second later, Rex wasn't there. The place on the counter where he and his aquarium usually sat stood empty. My mom must have taken him to her house.

I devoured the sub and then cracked open the bottle of olive oil. I put a few drops onto my left-hand ring finger and rubbed them around, then tried to slide the rings off. They moved up to my knuckle, but then stubbornly stopped. I poured a bit more olive oil over them and tried again. Nothing. Either the rings had shrunk or my knuckle had inexplicably grown. Panicking, I poured half the bottle over my hand. The gold rings remained put.

Sighing, I soaped up my hands and washed off all the olive oil. I pulled on the rings hopefully, thinking maybe dish soap would remove the rings. No cigar.

As much as I wanted to just hide in my apartment until I figured out how to get the fake wedding rings off, Vinnie really was irritated by my absence. I grabbed my messenger bag and keys and decided to get half a day of bounty hunting in.

Lula and Connie were sharing an extra-large pizza with the works when I walked in.

"Hey, Steph. Want some?" Lula offered.

"No thanks. Who came in while I was gone?" I asked Connie.

She pushed three files my way. "Small bonds," she said, "but added up, it's nothing to sneeze at."

"Any movement on George Fortecelli?" I asked.

Vinnie's head popped out of his office. "How would there be any movement when the damn bounty hunter I employed to catch him is off playing nurse for a week. Ignore these new skips. Get me George Fortecelli!" His head disappeared and his door slammed.

"What crawled up his butt?" Lula asked, taking another bite of pizza.

As I reached for the files on Connie's desk, my shoulder nearly dislocated from its socket.

"What are those on your hand?" Connie shrieked, yanking my left arm across the desk.

Lula's pizza hit the floor with a splat. "Holy shit! You went and got married without me?"

"Married to Ranger!" Connie shouted.

Vinnie's door suddenly swung open again. "You married Ranger? Don't even think about going away on a honeymoon until you've caught George Fortecelli." The door slammed shut again.

I extracted my arm from Connie's iron grip, rubbing it gingerly. "Calm down, all of you. I'm not married to anyone. I had to pretend to be Ranger's wife so the hospital would let me stay in the ICU with him. The rings are just a prop. Unfortunately, they're stuck and I can't get them off."

"Olive oil," Connie said instantly.

"Tried that. Didn't work. Neither did dish soap."

"Dental floss," Lula suggested.

Connie and I shot her a confused look.

"You wrap your finger with dental floss and the ring just slides right off."

"Really?" I would try anything.

"Yeah. Saw a client do it once back when I was still a 'ho. He couldn't do it with his wedding ring on. But his ring was kind of tight, so he pulled out some floss, wrapped it around his finger and the ring just came right off.

"I have dental floss," said Connie, opening her desk drawer and fishing around inside for a second. She finally pulled out a small square container of dental floss.

I pulled out about a foot of dental floss and started wrapping my ring finger. I tried to slide the rings off over it, but it made my finger all bumpy and the rings even harder to move.

"I don't think I'm doing it right," I said to Lula. "What am I missing?"

Lula shrugged. "It wasn't like I was watching real close when he did it. I was a bit preoccupied further south."

Definitely did not need that mental image. I peeled the dental floss off my finger and threw it away. "I'm going to see if George's cousin Frankie is home. You coming?"

We drove to Chestnut street. I knocked, but again no one answered. I tried the door. Still locked. I walked around to the front window. The curtains were now closed, but through a crack I could see the blank TV screen. If George was hiding out with his cousin, neither seemed to be home. The empty mail box and fresh ice melt on the sidewalk proved the place wasn't abandoned.

"Up for a mini stake out?" I asked Lula.

"That depends. You got any snacks?"

I didn't have snacks. I drove us a few blocks over to Howard Street and stocked up on snacks at the One Stop convenience store. Then I drove back to Chestnut Street and parked a few houses down from Frankie's. Lula reached into the convenience store bag and handed me a Butterscotch Krimpet and we hunkered down to watch for any sign of Frankie or George.

We were down to our last pack of Twinkies when a green Toyota RAV4 pulled into Frankie's driveway and parked. A man in his mid-forties got out and walked toward the front door. Most definitely not George, but there appeared to be a resemblance to the guy in Frankie's Facebook profile picture.

"That must be Frankie. Let's go."

Lula and I hopped out and hurried toward the house. "Frankie! Wait!"

Frankie turned in his open doorway at the sound of my voice. He didn't take off running or slam the door behind him, so I took that as a good sign.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm Stephanie Plum. I left you a note and my card about a week ago. I'm looking for your cousin, George Fortecelli."

Frankie fiddled with his keys. "Oh, that. I got your note, but I don't know where George is."

"By any chance, do you have a phone number for him? Or an old address?"

Frankie shook his head. "My cousin and I fell out not long after my mom died."

"Okay. Well, if he contacts you for some reason, please let me know. You still have my card?"

Frankie nodded.

"Thanks. Have a good night."

Lula and I went back to the Jeep.

"He's lying, at least about falling out with George. They're Facebook friends." The neighbor had lied too, about knowing George. Something felt off.

Now a little after four, I dropped Lula back off at the bond's office and then headed toward the Burg, intent on picking up Rex from my parents' house.

I pulled into the driveway. My mother stood at the door, her hands on her hips, some bizarre sixth sense alerting her to my approach. As I walked up to the door, I could see her lips set in a formidable glower.

"Stephanie, how dare you?"

"Umm, how dare I what?"

"Run off and get married without telling me!"

"Mom, I didn't run off and get married," I insisted with a sigh.

"Oh, then why are you wearing wedding rings? Betty Covaleski called me this afternoon, saying her daughter saw you in Giovichinni's wearing gold wedding bands. I assured her it must be a mistake, but no sooner had I hung up with her, when my cousin Jean calls to say you were at the One Stop today, driving a black Rangeman Jeep and wearing gold wedding bands."

The good old Burg rumor mill had caught me squarely in its clutches.

"Can you imagine what they must be saying about us around their dinner tables tonight? Stephanie Plum, running off to get married and her mother finds out through the grapevine! It's shameful. It's embarrassing."

"It's not true," I replied. "I'm not married, I promise. Can I come in and explain?"

My mother huffed but moved aside.

I stepped through the doorway and got a face full of uncooked white rice.

"Congratulations," Grandma Mazur shouted, tossing another handful of rice my direction.

"Mother," my mom shouted, "I just vacuumed!"

"Calm down, it's not every day that Stephanie gets married."

"True," I replied, shaking rice out of my hair, "except I didn't get married today, or yesterday, or any day this past week."

"But the rings…"

I held up my ringed hand to silence my mother. "I had to pretend to be married to Ranger for a job." No point in giving full details, they would just upset my mother further. "The rings are a prop. Problem is, they are stuck. I can't get them off."

"Olive oil," my mother and grandmother said simultaneously.

"Tried that," I replied. "I also tried dish soap and dental floss. Nothing works."

"What about butter?" my mother asked.

"Worth a try."

My mother led me to the kitchen and pulled the lid off her butter dish. She cut off a chunk and hung my hand over the kitchen sink, smearing the butter all over the rings and my finger. Then she pulled on the offensive pieces of jewelry. They slid forward and hit my knuckle. My mother kept pulling.

"It's no use," I said, "they just won't go over my knuckle."

My mother ignored me, wiggling the rings and tugging harder.

"Ouch! Mom, stop!" I pulled my hand away, knuckle stinging. It took another five minutes to get all the butter off.

"Any other ideas?" I asked.

My mother pursed her lips. "Your father has a bolt cutter in the garage."

"Please tell me you aren't suggesting cutting off my finger?"

"Well, you can't keep going around with those rings on. People are going to think you are married."

"So, you tell them I'm not and explain what happened."

My mother hung her head. "Betty's daughter has a good job at Giovichinni's. Lois' daughter is a secretary at the hospital. My daughter has a job that requires her to pretend to be married."

I figured now was not a good time to mention that I also got shot at, a lot. "So, I'm the black sheep, Mom. What's the big deal? Every family has one. It could be worse. I could be in jail."

"I'd get less calls if you were," she shot back.

I shrugged. She might be right. "Do I smell meatloaf?"

"Yes. You staying for dinner?"

"I just came by to get Rex, but sure."

My mother gave me an odd look. "I don't have Rex."

My stomach flip flopped with worry. "He's not at my place. Who has him?"

"Joseph. I called him when he didn't drop off the key to your apartment and he told me there had been some miscommunication and he would be able to take care of Rex."

I had to give Morelli credit. This ensured I would have to come talk to him now that I was back in Trenton.


	10. Ten

TEN

I left my mother's house pleasantly full of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and chocolate cake. I had a nice doggie bag too, with enough left-over meatloaf for a couple sandwiches and a huge slice of chocolate cake wrapped in tin foil. I also still had a left ring finger, at least for now. If I couldn't figure out how to get these rings off soon, the bolt cutter might start sounding like a good idea.

I went straight home, even though I wanted to pick up Rex. I couldn't face Morelli quite yet. Especially with the fake wedding rings still adhered to my hand.

Pushing the door of my apartment open, I stopped in my tracks. My lights and TV were on. Rex and his aquarium rested on my counter. I peeked into the living room and saw Morelli sitting on my couch, an open beer in his hand. I suddenly became very glad my left hand remained hidden by my bag of leftovers. Bob picked his head off the floor, woofed, and charged me. He skidded into my knees, but I'd braced myself for impact. I scratched him behind the ears as he leaned against my legs, slobbering all over my jeans.

Morelli looked my way and took a long swig of beer. "I had some interesting phone calls today."

"Oh?" I tried to act casual as I stepped around Bob and went into the kitchen to unpack my left-overs.

"Rumor has it you got married," Morelli shouted from his spot on my sofa. "Everyone assumes it was to me. Problem is, I don't recall proposing or getting married, especially as I haven't seen you in over a week."

"Don't worry, I'm not married," I called from the kitchen.

"Then why does everyone think you are?"

"You know how rumors are in the Burg."

"And the rumors that you've got two gold rings on your left hand?"

I sighed. The game was up. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge, popped the cap off and sat down next to Morelli. I held up my left hand for his inspection.

"They are stuck. I can't get them off. I've been trying all day."

"And you put them on in the first place because?"

"The hospital has a family only policy for the ICU patients. The rings were needed to convince the hospital I was Ranger's wife so they'd let me see him."

Morelli pinched the bridge of his nose and remained silent for a few beats, reigning in his emotions. "Have you tried olive oil to get them off?"

"Yes, and dish soap, dental floss, and butter. My father has a bolt cutter if I reach complete desperation."

"Cupcake, let's try to keep that finger attached, just in case I ever decide to put a real wedding ring on it." He leaned over and kissed me. Light at first, it became progressively passionate. One of his hands slid up the inside of my shirt as he pushed me down onto the couch cushions. He suddenly stopped fondling me as I worked on his button and fly.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this when you've got those rings on."

"Seriously?" Morelli always wanted sex. Always.

"It's hard to get excited when you're wearing rings from another man."

"I'll hide my left hand."

Morelli got up and shook his head. "Call me when you finally get them off." And with that, he put on his jacket, snapped on Bob's leash, and left.

I sat, stunned, for a few minutes until my cell phone rang. I recognized the number of my best friend, Mary Lou. After college, Mary Lou's and my life diverged. Mary Lou got married, started having kids and doing the happy Burg housewife thing. She cooked, she cleaned, she changed diapers and lactated. I, on the other hand, got married, got divorced, got a hamster, got a job selling lingerie, got fired from said job, and became a bounty hunter. Mary Lou represents everything my mother wishes I would be. I am everything Mary Lou wishes she could go back to being. I occasionally look at Mary Lou's life and feel envious. Then her kids do something gross or hideous and I count myself lucky to only have Rex. We've been best friends since elementary school and it's the kind of friendship that doesn't need to be carefully tended. We can go months without speaking and pick up as if no time passed at all.

"Hi Mary Lou," I said as I answered.

"Don't 'Hi Mary Lou' me! You didn't invite me to your wedding!"

"That's because I didn't get married."

"Are you sure? Because everyone is saying you and Joe finally tied the knot."

"Unfounded rumors."

"Based on?"

"It's complicated."

"I like complicated. You want to come over for coffee Monday morning and talk about it? The kids will be at school and after the weekend I'll be craving conversation with other adults."

"It's a date. I'll bring the donuts."

* * *

The next day I woke determined to get two things done: get a lead on George Fortecelli and get the fake wedding rings off my finger.

I tried olive oil again, just in case something had changed. It hadn't. I took a shower and dressed in dark blue jeans, a stretchy, long-sleeve burnt orange t-shirt, and boots. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and swiped some mascara on my lashes, then grabbed my messenger bag and coat and headed for the bail bonds office.

"Connie, can you get me the exact location of the land that George Fortecelli put up as collateral for his bond?" I asked as I waltzed in the door. Lula lounged on the sofa, working her way through a bag of McDonalds breakfast sandwiches.

"Sure can." Connie began typing away on her computer. A few seconds later she swiveled the screen so I could take a look at a Google Earth image. No street address existed, just GPS coordinates.

"Thirty acres of woods in the Poconos," she said unenthusiastically.

There appeared to be a dirt road cutting through the property, but no buildings. I looked at the date on the image. "The last fly over by the satellite was almost two years ago. That's plenty of time to build a cabin or other structure."

"Road trip?" Lula asked.

"Road trip," I replied.

"I'm in. But let's stop and get ourselves a picnic lunch. I hear the Poconos are real pretty."

"It's January. A bit cold for a picnic."

"We still need something for lunch, and who knows what we'll find out there in the middle of nowhere. What if there isn't even a McDonalds?"

All three of us shuddered.

"Okay, we'll get a picnic lunch," I agreed.

We stopped at Giovichinnis and got two subs to go, along with a couple bags of chips, a box of Peanut Butter Tandy Kakes, a box of Butterscotch Krimpets and a couple Cokes. We loaded the food into my borrowed Rangeman Jeep and I put the GPS coordinates for Fortecelli's property into Google Maps on my cell phone. Our road trip would take us a little over two hours away.

"Mind if I turn on some road trip music?" asked Lula.

"Go for it," I said as I navigated away from Trenton and toward the Pennsylvania border.

Lula pulled her cell phone from her purse, along with an audio jack. She plugged her phone into the Jeep's sound system and my fillings suddenly vibrated from the bass of a rap song.

I made Lula cut the music as we neared Fortecelli's property. We drove on a narrow backroad, the kind that didn't even have painted lines, curving through the Pocono Mountains. According to the GPS, our destination should be ahead on the left. I slowed, watching for something, anything, that would tell me I'd led us to the right place. But Fortecelli's thirty acres of woods looked just like the last thousand acres of woods I'd driven through. There were no houses, no structures, no signs. We were in the wilderness.

About a mile later, I spotted a rough dirt road emerging from the trees.

"This must be the road we saw on the satellite image," I said.

"It looks like the start of a bad horror movie," remarked Lula.

I couldn't disagree. There were no structures visible through the leafless trees, making me nervous about where the dirt road led.

"We need to check it out," I said, sounding braver than I felt as I turned the Jeep onto the road. "Besides, we're in a Jeep, they're awesome at off-roading and stuff, right?"

"I think this here is a city Jeep."

We bounced along the dirt road, moving ever farther from the main road. Bright yellow "No Trespassing" signs appeared on the trees on either side of the road, every ten feet or so. I ignored them. Sometimes, being a bond enforcement agent had its perks, and this was one of those few times. Because I have reasonable suspicion that George Fortecelli might be on his property, I could trespass.

The road began to climb upward, still with no sign of any civilization. We reached the top of the mountain, where it became clear exactly what George did with his thirty acres.

"Greenhouses!" Lula exclaimed. "I never expected George to have a green thumb."

"I'm pretty sure he's not growing petunias in there," I replied, parking the Jeep near the first greenhouse. I didn't see any other vehicles, so I felt safe getting out and looking around.

There were three large industrial sized greenhouses in a clearing on top of the mountain. Several rows of solar panels tilted toward the sky and I spotted a capped well pipe near the second greenhouse. It looked like George had a large off-the-grid operation going on up here.

I got out of the Jeep, Lula close on my heels, and peeked through one of the panels of the first greenhouse. Row upon row of marijuana plants in various stages of growth sat in neat lines. It looked like there were automatic sprinklers hanging from the ceiling, along with massive sunlamps. A large thermometer on the wall indicated a balmy 80 degrees inside the greenhouse. The other two greenhouses were much the same.

In the third greenhouse, a small cot with a pillow on it sat near the door. A small room had been crammed into the corner, and through the open door I spotted a toilet and sink.

"What's the street value of this much weed?" I asked Lula.

"A lot," she replied. "Hundreds of thousands, maybe more."

I figured as much. "So then, if you got arrested on a measly arson charge, would you put up the land your lucrative pot greenhouses sit on and then skip town?"

Lula shook her head. "No way. Only an idiot would do that."

I looked around at the greenhouses. "This wasn't set up by an idiot," I replied. "Something feels off. Why would Fortecelli risk losing this, not to mention the additional drug charges?"

"Maybe we should ponder that in the car," suggested Lula, pointing toward the eaves of one of the greenhouses.

I followed her point to see a security camera looking our way. I glanced at the other greenhouses and caught a camera turn in our direction. Someone must remotely monitor the property.

"Yep. Time to go!"

Lula and I jumped back into the Jeep, I pulled a U-turn, and we bumped back down the dirt road as fast as I could without breaking an axle. I didn't stop checking my mirrors for a tail until we merged onto Interstate 80, heading east toward Jersey.

I took the ramp to the Delaware Water Gap National Park to find a nice scenic spot for our picnic. There weren't many other cars as I pulled into one of the scenic overlook lots and parked in a spot overlooking the Delaware River, which meandered past far below us. Lula and I grabbed our subs, chips, Tastykakes and sodas.

"Gotta say, it's not as pretty as I expected," Lula remarked in between bites.

The sky, a sullen gray that hinted at the strong possibility of snowflakes in the near future, looked drab. Most of the trees were barren and leafless. Nothing flew in the sky. No cute friendly deer grazed nearby. It was a bit underwhelming. "I imagine it's nicer in the summer. Probably really pretty in the fall, when all the leaves change colors."

My cell phone rang and Ranger's name flashed on the screen.

"Hello."

"Tank says your Jeep has been in the Poconos all day. Doing some sightseeing?"

"Lula and I were checking out a piece of property one of my skips put up for his bond."

"He owns property in a national park?"

"Nearby. Since we were coming out this way, we decided to pack a picnic lunch. It's very scenic."

"In January? Only if you're a skier," Ranger replied. "So, did you find your skip?"

"Not yet."

"You're out of leads, aren't you?"

"Sorta."

"Want help?"

"You need to rest and recuperate," I reminded him.

"You sound like my mother."

I heard a woman's voice in the background say something in Spanish, and Ranger reply. "My mother would like to know if you want to come over for dinner?"

I couldn't help but smile. "I don't think I've been invited over for dinner by someone's mother since I was in high school," I teased.

"Come over for dinner, Babe. And you can fill me in on this skip."

"Is that desperation I hear in your voice? Usually, I'm the one begging you for help."

"I need something to keep me from going stir crazy. So, tonight, six o'clock?"

"Sure," I finally agreed. "See you then."

I hung up and Lula gave me a disbelieving look.

"You've gone and tamed Batman."

"What?"

"His mother is inviting you over for dinner. That's so…" Lula searched for the right word, "domestic."

The clouds thinned and a few sunbeams broke through, sparkling off the river below us.

"Look at that," Lula remarked. "I guess it is kind of pretty."

It was after three when we got back to the bail bonds office, and I was still 0-2 on my day's goals. I had more questions than answers when it came to Fortecelli and I still sported my fake wedding rings.

I filled Connie in on what we'd found on Fortecelli's property. The moment I started describing the greenhouses full of pot, Vinnie emerged from his office.

"Are you shitting me? That much pot would bring the feds. Do you know how long it will take the feds to clear that land? It'll be years before I could sell it to recoup some of my losses. You need to find Fortecelli!" He slammed his door for effect and I sent him a stiff middle finger.


	11. Eleven

ELEVEN

I knocked on the door to Ranger's seventh floor apartment at five of six. His mother answered it and greeted me with a warm hug and a kiss on each cheek. The most wonderful aroma drifted out into the hallway.

"What smells so good?" I asked as I entered and she took my coat.

"Oh, it's just ropa vieja," she replied, the name trilling off her tongue.

I had no idea what that was, but if it tasted as good as it smelled, I didn't care.

Ranger relaxed on his couch, a hockey game on his big screen TV. He wore black military fatigues and a black t-shirt, still managing to look sexy as hell. He smiled when he saw me, gingerly moving into a sitting position and patting the newly open spot next to him.

"I see we're still married," he quipped, eying up the gold rings with an amused expression.

"I've tried everything," I moaned. "They are really stuck."

"Word on the street is you married Morelli. Not going to take long before he gets wind of that."

"The Burg rumor mill works faster than the word on the street," I replied with a grimace. "Both my mom and Morelli were inundated with calls the moment I set foot in public yesterday."

Ranger's smile grew. "And how'd that go?"

"My mother has now ironed every piece of fabric in the house. And Morelli can barely stand to kiss me while I'm wearing rings from another man."

"I counted on him going off the deep end, but I didn't think it would bother him that much," Ranger replied, looking pleased. "So, tell me about this skip you've hit a dead end with."

"George Fortecelli," I replied.

Recognition crossed Ranger's face. "Let me take a wild guess. Arson charges?"

I narrowed my eyes at Ranger. "That's a little too good for just a wild guess, even for you."

"About a year and a half ago, Rangeman got called in to set up some basic security features for CampTech. They'd had some issues with someone setting fires in their dumpsters. No one ever got hurt and nothing major damaged, but after the third incident their CEO decided heightened security might not be a bad idea. He also asked us to see if we could find the culprit, as he suspected it was one of his employees. George Fortecelli made the short list, but we could never find anything to tie him, or any other employee, directly with the fires. The new security cameras put a stop to any further incidents."

"He must have quit CampTech not long after," I put in. "That was his last known employer, and, at least on paper, he hasn't worked anywhere for nearly a year. You don't happen to still have anything on Fortecelli from that investigation?" I asked. "Even just an address would be helpful. The one he gave Vinnie is an empty lot."

"I'll check, but CampTech could probably give you an old address from his file."

"I already tried that. The guard turned me away at the gate and when I tried to call to set up an appointment I was told employee files are confidential."

"I'll put in a call to their CEO."

"Thanks. But that's not everything about Fortecelli. When Lula and I checked out the property he put up for his bond today, we found three greenhouses full of marijuana. And this wasn't some redneck operation. We're talking totally off the grid: solar panels, well water, automatic sprinklers, sunlamps. Unfortunately, no stoned out Fortecelli to take in."

"Well now you know how he's been earning a living the past year."

I shook my head. "Something feels very off. He got caught on a bar's surveillance camera lighting a trash can on fire, and it ended up burning down the condemned building next to the bar. If anything, Fortecelli did the neighborhood a favor. A decent lawyer could probably plea down the felony charge to a misdemeanor with community service. So why did he skip bail and risk not only losing his property and greenhouses, but also getting charged for growing and distributing?"

"No one can run an operation of that size without help, so he's got to have business associates. I'll put some feelers out, see what I can find. You're right about something feeling off."

Ranger's mother called us to the table and I heaped my plate high with homemade Cuban food. Ropa vieja turned out to be delicious shredded stewed beef and vegetables served over rice. The glass of red wine next to my plate seemed to magically refill itself, leaving me feeling really good by the end of dinner.

"That was delicious," I told Mrs. Manoso. "I've never had Cuban food before."

She shot Ranger a disapproving look. "Carlos, you've never offered to cook for Stephanie?"

I almost choked on my wine. "You can cook?" I asked incredulously. Ranger caught my eye across the table, and his glare clearly said I'd die a horrible and slow death if this conversation left this room.

"Of course he can cook," his mother replied. "I taught all my children how to cook. Carlos, you must offer to cook sometimes. I'm sure Stephanie cooks for you all the time."

Ranger grinned at me as I squirmed in my chair. "We both keep odd hours," I told Ranger's mother, eager to reroute the conversation topic. "It's difficult for either one of us to find the time."

"Work, work, work," she said, turning to Ranger. "It's all you young people think about. When are you going to think about settling down and starting a family?"

Ranger went rigid. "Mama, we've discussed this," he said with a tone of finality that would have terrified anyone. Except, apparently, his mother, who just shrugged.

I volunteered to help with the dishes as Ranger's mother banished him back to the sofa to rest. As I dried the last pot, Ranger's mother turned to me and said, out of the blue, "don't give up on him, dear."

I blinked, my eyebrows moving up of their own accord. "Sorry, what?"

"He loves you, but he's too self-sacrificing and stubborn. He doesn't think he deserves to be happy. But he's slowly coming around, realizing he wants you in his life. A mother knows these things." She tapped the side of her head as she left the kitchen.

I stood in shocked silence for a few seconds before I followed her into the living room.

Ranger's apartment contained only one bedroom, so he'd arranged for his mother to stay in one of the studio apartments on the fourth floor. Around ten, she excused herself to return to her accommodations.

"I like your mother," I told him after she left.

"I apologize for her comment at dinner," he replied. "She was out of line."

I gave him an astonished look. "Have you met my mother?"

Ranger's lips curled into a half smile. "There isn't a lot in this world that scares me, but the thought that my mother and your mother might happen to meet terrifies me. We'd be dragged before a priest and married before we knew what was happening."

"Good to know the thought of marrying me terrifies you," I teased.

"Because you're so eager to run down the aisle?"

I sighed. "We're both screwed up," I conceded. "I should get going," I told him, standing.

"You had wine. You should stay," he urged, pulling me back onto the sofa.

"I'm fine to drive now. And you need to rest, doctor's orders."

"I can rest with you next to me."

I shot him a disbelieving look.

"I know my limitations. Stay the night?"

"I wouldn't be able to look at your mother tomorrow morning."

Ranger chuckled. "If you aren't here tomorrow morning, my mother's going to scold me for not inviting you to stay."

"I wouldn't want to be the cause of you getting scolded by your mother," I replied with a grin.

Ranger placed a chaste kiss on my forehead and gingerly got off the couch and headed for the bedroom. Clearly, the movement caused him pain.

"You should take the pain pills the hospital gave you," I suggested, following him into the bedroom.

He shook his head. "Too easy to get hooked on that stuff. Time is as good a medicine as anything," he said as he disappeared into his dressing room.

I couldn't argue that point with him.

Ranger reemerged into the bedroom a few minutes later, wearing black silk boxers that rode low on his hips and nothing else. A large square bandage decorated his left side and another taped on his lower back.

"I'm not going to have to fight you off, am I?" he asked.

I blinked, realizing too late I'd been staring. I hurried into the bathroom. A pink toothbrush, still in its wrapping, sat on the marble vanity next to a hair brush. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and brushed out my hair. There were clothes in Ranger's closet for me. I'd stayed in his apartment enough times that Ella kept it stocked, though everything had Rangeman sewn onto it. I found a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt and slipped them on before returning to the bedroom. I turned off the lamp on the nightstand closest to me, plunging the room into darkness, then I crawled into bed.

Ranger laid on his right side, waiting for me. I scooted over to him and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest. He tilted my chin upwards, laying a gentle kiss on my lips.

"Goodnight, Babe."

"Goodnight," I replied automatically.

My mind kept me awake for a good while, cocooned in Ranger's warmth under the covers. I'd shared a bed with Ranger many times. A few of those times platonically. This felt different. This felt…domestic. Lula's words echoed inside my brain. His mother's words bolstered Lula's observation. Lula thought I'd tamed him. His mother thought he wanted me in his life. And now here I was, asked to spend the night with no strings attached. Could they both be right?

* * *

I woke to the soft sound of clinking pots and pans in the kitchen. I lay on my back, one of Ranger's arms over my chest as he slept on his stomach next to me. I glanced at the bedside clock and saw 6:45 and groaned internally. I tried to fall back to sleep, but my mind decided the day should start now.

Thoughts of George Fortecelli rattled around my brain, trying to puzzle out why I had a such a bad feeling in my gut when it came to his case. Then my mind wandered to the man in bed next to me, and what I wanted to do to the man in bed next to me. I internally chastised myself. He'd been shot a week ago, Stephanie, what is wrong with you? And his mother is in the kitchen! I pushed away those thoughts, as they could lead nowhere good. I should probably get out of bed, as direct proximity to Ranger never helped keep my thoughts chaste.

I tried to gently slide to the edge of the bed, but Ranger's arm tightened around me, pulling me back against him. He cracked one eye open.

"Bit early for you, isn't it?" he asked, his voice husky from sleep.

"I can hear your mom in the kitchen. I can't get back to sleep."

He nuzzled my neck, kissing along my collar bone, and suddenly sleep became the farthest thing from my mind. His mouth moved up my neck and across my jaw until his lips found mine. His kisses stayed light, though, and soon he pulled away.

"I have you in my bed and I can't do what I want to you. Do you know how frustrating that is?" he murmured in my ear.

I did. Of course, the only reason I'd agreed to stay in his bed was because I'd known nothing could come of it. But that did nothing to cure the ache between my legs.

Ranger reluctantly let me go and rolled to his back. I caught him grimace, ever so slightly, as he slowly pushed himself into a seated position. I didn't like that he was in pain. It reminded me how close to death he'd truly come.

"I'm not sure I like how you're looking at me," he said as he swung his legs out of bed. "You're too serious. I prefer it when you look at me and get all hot and bothered."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, then scooted over to get out of bed. "This is serious. You got shot. I thought you were going to die." I blinked back tears, unsure why I suddenly felt so emotional.

"But I didn't die. So why does it still bother you?" he asked as he crossed the room, moving toward me.

"Because you told me you took the bullet for me. Do you think I want to live with that kind of guilt? You should have just let me get shot."

"You're right. I should have just let you get shot."

That stunned me into silence. Ranger closed the gap between us and locked his eyes with mine.

"I should have let you get shot," he repeated. "You were there on a Rangeman assignment to protect our client. If it had been Tank, Lester, Bobby, or any of the guys in your position, I would have let him get shot while I drew my sidearm to take out Aaron."

"So why didn't you?"

"You know why." Ranger's fingers softly brushed the side of my face. "The same reason you gave me your blood. You wouldn't have done it for any of the others."

I opened my mouth to argue that I would have, but the lie died on my lips. Ranger was correct. Probably, that made me a horrible person. "I would have sold my soul in that moment, if it meant keeping you alive," I whispered instead.

"I know." He pulled me tightly against him for a few minutes. "You make my instincts override my training, and that's not good in a business like mine."

"You aren't going to ask me to do any more jobs for Rangeman, are you?"

Ranger nodded. "I've worked hard to build Rangeman into what it is today. I can't let my personal feelings for you endanger that. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, I understand." And I really did. Most of my interactions with Ranger involved Rangeman jobs, so I also understood it would distance us. And maybe that was for the best. I didn't know if I wanted to be responsible for domesticating Ranger. Some creatures were better off left wild. "So, what are you going to do when you have jobs that require a feminine touch?"

Sighing, Ranger replied, "I'm hiring a woman to be on staff full time. I already have Tank interviewing some potential candidates."

"Replacing me," I mumbled, meaning to make it sound like a joke but failing miserably.

He tiled my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "No one can replace you," he told me, voice forceful.

Ranger let me shower first. I hopped out, towel dried my hair as best as I could, and dressed in Rangeman embroidered clothes from the dressing room. I followed an amazing smell into the kitchen and found Ranger's mom making omelets for breakfast. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the dining table. Ranger joined me ten minutes later, his hair damp, dressed in black fatigues and a black t-shirt again.

After breakfast, I stood up and announced that I needed to go. Weekends didn't mean much to bounty hunters. I tracked down skips whenever the opportunity arose. Plus, I needed to go grocery shopping and do laundry at my mom's house.

Ranger's mother gave me a warm hug.

"It was so good to finally meet you, Stephanie. I hope we will meet again, under much better circumstances. Please, check in on Carlos after I leave to make sure he's not overdoing it."

I told her I would, though I doubted very much that Ranger would let me check in on him if he didn't want me to. Not to mention the fact that he and I being alone in the apartment might lead to him overdoing it.

"And remember what I told you last night in the kitchen," she said as I put on my coat and grabbed my purse.

"What did you tell her last night, Mama?" Ranger asked warily.

"Never you mind," she replied.

Ranger shot me a look and I knew he'd wheedle it out of me the first chance he got.


	12. Twelve

TWELVE

I drove home, trying to decide what to do first. I decided to do some more snooping on Facebook first, in case I found a good lead on Fortecelli. I fed Rex while I waited for my laptop to boot up, then logged into Facebook. There were posts all over my wall from people wishing me congratulations on my marriage. I sighed and posted a status: **Sorry for the confusion, but I am not married!** Then I checked to see if any of the friend requests I'd sent had been accepted. Andrea, as I'd expected, had not accepted my request. A few random people had, though, so I scanned their feeds, looking for anything from George. I came up with a big goose egg. I checked Frankie's profile, too, but he had also gone quiet.

I spent the rest of the day doing laundry, with a quick stop at the grocery store for food. On my way home, I checked my mailbox in the apartment's foyer for the first time in over a week. Bills overflowed it. I was tempted to put them back in the box. Maybe if I ignored them they would get returned to sender. Of course, then my electricity would probably also get shut off. I spied an envelope with a return address for Rangeman. Recognizing my check from the New Year's Eve job, I ripped it open. I stared at the amount. Ranger's account manager had messed something up. This added up to a week's worth of work, not just one night. I tucked it into my purse, mentally noting to let Ranger know about the mistake later.

As the sun set, I decided to visit the site of George's crime to see if anyone at the bar had any useful information.

The Union Bar sat squarely in the middle of residential Boulder Street. To its right squatted a low rise apartment building, upkept enough to avoid visits by code enforcement, but certainly not pretty. To its left, an empty lot, formerly occupied by the building burnt down by Fortecelli. The rest of the street contained a jumble of apartment buildings and dumpy row homes. The working poor dominated this area, making it a step above the projects, but growing a little rougher year after year.

The day shifts at most of the factories were over by the time I got to Union Bar, so the place hopped with a steady stream of workers looking to down a few beers before heading home. Sunday didn't mean anything in a neighborhood like this one. Weekends were a luxury only afforded to the middle class and up.

The interior of Union Bar appeared to be a half-hearted attempt at a sports bar, but two out of the three flat screen TV's on the wall were busted. A dozen or so mismatched tables dotted the center, but most folks bellied up to the bar. I found an open bar stool and sat down, well aware of my status as the only woman in the place.

The bartender approached me with an appraising look. He sported short brown hair, grayed around the temples, with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few too many times.

"What can I get you, beautiful?"

I handed him my card. "I'm looking for George Fortecelli. He allegedly burned down the building next door."

"Apprehension agent, eh?" the bartender replied, reading the title off my card. "I'm afraid I can't help you. I haven't seen George since the night he did us all a favor and torched that crack house."

"I thought it was abandoned and condemned?"

"It was. Didn't matter none to the dealers. They'd sell the stuff on the first floor, then send them upstairs to get high. I'd call the cops and they'd all scatter like cockroaches as soon as they heard the first siren and be back the next day. You know how long that place was condemned and slated for demolition? Five years. Five fucking years of the dealers and their druggies. How's a guy supposed to run a reputable bar with a crack house next door?"

"You own the bar?"

He nodded.

"Did you complain to the city council?"

"City council don't care about a crack house in this neighborhood. I'd go to meetings, ask when something would be done, and all I'd get is the same answer. They'd tear it down when there was money to do it. Well, shit, there's money for plenty of things it seems, except tearing down that building. Then it burns down, and don't you know, one of the councilmen shows up two days later, demanding to see video from my surveillance camera. He's ranting about how we need to catch the person responsible. That there is a firebug on the loose. You'd swear George had burnt down a school or something."

"So you gave him the footage? That's how they identified George."

"Yeah, didn't have no choice. He came in with the cop assigned to the case and they had a warrant."

"Do you remember the cop's name?"

"No, but he gave me his business card. Hang on." The bartender dug around by the cash register and came back with the card. It read Gary Lucas. Trenton PD had a small arson division, consisting of only two cops, and Gary wasn't one of them. "You can keep it," the bartender said. "I don't need it."

I pocketed the business card. "What about the councilman, do you remember his name?"

"Yeah, Marcus Greenridge. Slimy as politicians get, if you ask me. He was always the one telling me there was no money to tear the building down. And now he's on the war path over George. It's all PR bullshit. He's announced he's running for mayor and wants to say he stopped a dangerous fire bug."

I lowered my voice, "You didn't put George up to this, did you?"

He narrowed his eyes at me and for a second I thought I was about to get pitched out the door. "All my regulars knew I hated the place next door, and what went on in it. But I never asked any of them to do anything more than complain to city council about it."

His voice held a dangerous tint. I decided that marked my cue to exit.

"Thank you for your time," I said, sliding off the bar stool and sticking a ten into his tip jar.

He reached across the bar to grab my arm and I froze in fear.

"Listen. I didn't ask George to do nothing. But that night, he'd been drinking more than usual. He started raving about how the drug dealers were destroying the neighborhood. How they'd lure kids in with pot, and then get them hooked on the nasty stuff. I had to ask him to leave. Next thing I know, the building next door is on fire."

"You tell this to anyone else?"

"No. The cop and Greenridge didn't ask as nicely as you did."

"I don't suppose there is any chance you know where George lives?"

"Sorry. Has to be somewhere nearby, though, cause he always walked here."

I left the bar with still more questions than answers. It seemed a little odd that George would go off about drug dealers when he was a drug dealer. Unless, of course, it involved a turf war. I thought on that for a few minutes and it seemed to provide some clarity. If George was at odds with the drug dealers next to the bar, burning down their crack house might have been strategic, or maybe even revenge. And perhaps the dealers had gotten revenge back and made George disappear.

Excitedly, I called Ranger, but only got his voicemail. I let him know what I'd discovered and my newest theory, then I headed home.

* * *

I woke up at 7:30 on Monday morning, showered, blew dry my hair, and quickly applied some mascara and lipstick. I dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt, looked outside to see some lazy snowflakes drifting past my window, then added a gray hooded sweatshirt to my ensemble. I stopped at Tasty Pastry, got a dozen donuts, then drove to Mary Lou's house, arriving just as a big yellow bus pulled away.

Mary Lou ushered me inside.

"Sorry for the mess," she said. "The kids go a little nuts in the morning."

Talk about an understatement. The living room looked like an isolated tornado had ripped through it. Couch cushions were strewn across around the room, crayons spread across the floor, and the pages of a coloring book littered the carpet like confetti. At least three dozen stickers were adhered to the inside of the window. A not-quite-empty bowl of Cheerios rested upside down on the coffee table, milk oozing across the surface. A minefield of Legos lay between the couch and the television, which blared an irritating song by Mickey Mouse.

Mary Lou pointed the remote at the TV and Mickey disappeared. She quickly kicked all the Legos into a pile with the side of her foot, then set the cushions back on the sofa. Crumbling up the coloring pages, she threw them away before scooping the crayons back into a box. She retrieved a roll of paper towels from the kitchen and cleaned up the coffee table. She ignored the stickers on the window. Today, I didn't feel envious of Mary Lou at all.

We sat on the sofa, the box of donuts open on the coffee table next to a big urn of coffee and two mugs.

Mary Lou eyed up the rings on my left hand as she poured herself a cup of coffee and selected a powdered donut from the box. "Okay, so what's this complicated situation?"

I grabbed a donut for myself and launched into the full story, starting with the Robinson assignment and ending with Ranger's decision not to bring me on any more jobs. Almost all the donuts were gone by the time I finished.

Mary Lou helped herself to the last pastry. "Okay, so you weren't kidding about it being complicated. Let's see those rings."

I held my hand out for inspection. Mary Lou pulled at the rings. They didn't budge. "What have you tried so far?" she asked.

"Olive oil, dish soap, dental floss and butter."

"What about peanut butter?"

"Peanut butter?"

"It unsticks gum from hair."

"Really?"

"Yeah, trust me on that. Come on."

I followed Mary Lou into the kitchen and she opened the pantry, revealing an entire shelf full of peanut butter.

"Whoa."

"Yeah. I should have bought stock in JIF before having kids."

Mary Lou grabbed an open jar, scooped out a heaping tablespoon of peanut butter and handed it to me. I went to the sink and smeared it over the rings and my finger. I wiggled the rings toward my knuckle, getting excited as they moved, then bitterly disappointed as they hit my knuckle and refused to move any farther.

"No luck," I said, washing the goo off my hand. Even after two rounds with Mary Lou's lemon scented dish soap, my hand still smelled like peanuts.

"Well, maybe Ranger's mother is right, and he's going to decide he's madly in love with you and wants to get married. Saves him the trouble of picking out rings when you've already got a set on your hand."

I had a hard time imagining Ranger ever proposing, and a harder time imagining myself saying yes. Despite all our troubles, Morelli remained the man I could easily see myself returning to every night. Ranger seemed too mysterious and withdrawn, a fact demonstrated by my complete lack of helpfulness to the EMTs treating him on New Year's. Not to mention the idea of sharing his bed every night for the rest of my life gave me heart palpitations.

"Ranger doesn't like the rings. The style, I mean. As far as I can tell, he thinks the situation is amusing."

"What's not to like about the rings? They are perfectly respectable rings. Any Burg woman would be happy to have those rings."

"I suspect that's why he doesn't like them. Ranger's style sits a bit beyond traditional Burg standards. Any jewelry he buys isn't going to be from Walmart." I saw the time on Mary Lou's microwave. "Crap. I need to get to work."

"Going after anyone fun today?" she asked.

I secretly hoped George Fortecelli would simply stroll into the bonds office and turn himself in, but I was ninety-nine percent sure that wouldn't happen. And since all leads on him had run cold, I needed to pick up the rest of the FTAs to make up for it. "I have an FTA who works in the food court at Quaker Bridge Mall, so I think I'll go after him."

"You need any help?"

I raised my eyebrows at her. "You actually want to help or you just want to go shopping?"

Mary Lou grinned. "We can't do both?"


	13. Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

Ten minutes later, with Mary Lou riding shotgun in my Jeep, we stopped outside the bonds office to pick up Lula. Another half hour found us parked outside of Macy's as the three of us strolled into the mall.

"What first?" asked Lula. "Shopping or ass kicking?"

"There will be no ass kicking," I replied sternly, pulling the file on Alexander Li from my purse and showing his photo to Lula and Mary Lou. "Twenty-one years old," I read, "first time offender. Busted for taking a leak in a public park while walking home from the bar one night. Drunk as a skunk when it happened, so he got charged with public intoxication and public indecency. He works at the Chinese restaurant in the food court. His parents own the business."

Lula checked the time on her cell phone. "It's only ten-thirty. The Chinese place doesn't start serving until eleven-thirty, so we might as well do some shopping first, enjoy lunch, then grab our guy."

Mary Lou and I agreed. We shopped until twelve thirty, then headed for the food court. We looked around, taking in our dining choices. I covertly eyed up the Chinese restaurant, but didn't see Alexander Li working the front counter.

"One of you needs to get Chinese for lunch to see if Li is working," I told Lula and Mary Lou. "Everyone knows I work for Vinnie. He might recognize me and split."

"I'll do it," replied Mary Lou. "I'm hungry for some sesame chicken anyway."

Lula and I got in line for pizza and we met Mary Lou at a table as far from the Chinese restaurant as possible.

"He's working the wok in the back," Mary Lou reported.

We ate and formulated a plan. After throwing away our trash, Mary Lou approached the Chinese counter. Lula and I slunk around the outside of the food court until we were standing pressed against the wall next to the Chinese restaurant.

"Excuse me," Mary Lou said to the young man working the register. "May I speak to the chef?"

"Was there a problem with your food?" he asked.

"No, it was really good. I want to give him my compliments."

"I would be happy to pass along the message."

"I'd really like to tell him in person," Mary Lou insisted, leaning on the counter to flash some cleavage and block the customers behind her from ordering.

The kid at the register sighed. "Hey Alex, get up here," he shouted.

A few minutes later I heard a new voice. "How can I help you, ma'am?" The voice sounded bored.

Mary Lou put a hand behind her back, making a thumbs up sign. "I just wanted to tell you how excellent the sesame chicken was," she said as I stepped out from around the corner. I had a good old fashioned pair of metal handcuffs with me today and they were out and ready.

"Alexander Li?" I asked as I leaned against the counter and snapped a bracelet onto Alex's wrist. "I represent Vincent Plum Bail Bonds and you're in violation of your bond. You need to come with me to reschedule your court hearing."

Li's eyes got wide and he reached under the counter with his free hand. I screeched as I suddenly fell forward. He'd hit the release for the little door built into the counter, causing it to swing inward. Li bolted toward the back of the restaurant, my cuffs dangling from his left wrist. I stumbled forward a few steps, managing not to face plant, but it put me several steps behind Li. I ran after him, stepped in some oil from the wok, and skidded across the floor. I grabbed at something, anything, and knocked several containers of pre-cut vegetables off a steel shelf, covering myself in sliced carrots, cabbage, and bamboo shoots.

Li crashed through the emergency exit at the back of the restaurant, setting off the automatic fire alarm. I skidded through the door after him, finding myself in a back hallway of the mall. I chased after him, but the bottoms of my sneakers were still slick with grease and I kept losing my footing. I saw Li push open a door into the mall and then heard a loud ooff followed by silence.

I got through the door and saw Lula sitting on Li.

"Where's Mary Lou?" I asked as I cuffed Li's other hand behind his back. It didn't look like he would try to escape again anytime soon. His eyes were glazed and he barely breathed.

"There's two exits from that back hallway. She took the other one."

I called Mary Lou from my cell phone and told her to meet us at the Jeep. Lula and I helped Li to his feet and walked him back through Macy's. Mary Lou waited for us just inside the exit doors, looking anxious.

"Ummm, I think there might be a slight problem with your car," she said, chewing on her lip.

What now? We stepped outside and into a crowd of gawkers. The Jeep sat exactly where I'd left it. Flames shot out all the windows. Sirens echoed nearby and soon a firetruck chugged into the lot, followed by several police cars.

I pushed my way to the front of the clump of people. "Did you see what happened?" I asked a lady my mother's age.

She nodded. "I was waiting for my husband to bring the car around, and a maroon car pulled into the aisle and stopped. At first, I figured it's just someone waiting for a spot to open up, but then I saw the driver's door open and someone threw something under that Jeep. A second later there were flames everywhere."

"Did you see the driver?"

"No, all the windows were tinted real dark."

"Do you recall the make or model? Maybe some of the license plate?"

She paused and I saw her glance at Li, still handcuffed in front of me.

"Are you an undercover cop? Wow. I never met an undercover cop before. I'm sorry, but I'm not a car person. If my husband had been with me he could tell you everything about the car, but all I remember is that it was a maroon four door sedan with tinted windows. It had Jersey plates, but I don't remember the numbers. Honestly, once the Jeep started burning, I couldn't pull my eyes away."

"Thank you anyway," I told her, not bothering to correct her assumption about me being an undercover cop.

I heard my cell ringing in my purse, so I handed off Li to Lula and dug out my phone. Ranger's name showed on the screen.

"Hi," I said as I answered it.

"The GPS on the Jeep just disappeared from our screens. Last location was the Quaker Bridge Mall. I don't suppose it's coincidence that a call went out about the same time for a vehicle fire?"

"Someone in a maroon four door sedan with tinted windows tossed something under the Jeep and it caught fire."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. We were all inside the mall when it happened."

"We?"

"Lula and Mary Lou. They were helping me pick up an FTA who works in the food court."

"How'd that go."

"I'm covered in raw stir fry veggies but I got my guy."

"Babe." I heard someone talking in the background. "Tank wants to know if the car just burned or if it exploded?"

"It only burned. Might be something to do with the tank being on empty. Otherwise, there might have been an explosion."

I heard Ranger relay my information and Tank utter a disappointed, "damn."

"He's disappointed I didn't blow up another car?" I asked.

"He's disappointed he lost the betting pool. He had his money on an explosion."

My eye twitched. "Your men have a betting pool on how I'm going to destroy my vehicles? I thought it was only on when I'd destroy it."

"When got too predictable, so they switched to how. I'll send someone over with a new set of wheels for you. I have some info on Fortecelli, can you come over later?"

"Sure. I'll stop by after I drop off the FTA and get my check from Connie."

Ranger disconnected. The firefighters had the Jeep mostly extinguished already. The police were standing by in a tight clump, mostly just there as a formality. I spotted Eddie Garazza among them and decided I ought to walk over and fess up to the car being mine.

Eddie grinned the second he saw me walking toward him.

"It's yours, isn't it?"

"Technically, it's Ranger's, but it was on loan to me." I told him what the woman in the crowd told me and pointed her out so that he could get an official statement.

As I walked away, I saw Eddie grab his radio, no doubt letting Morelli know about my latest vehicular disaster.

We were still waiting for Ranger's lift when Morelli pulled up. He parked in the fire lane in front of Macy's and got out, briefly surveying the Jeep's carcass before walking over to me. I had Li sitting on the curb, still handcuffed and now in leg shackles to ensure he didn't run again. Morelli looked down at Li and then over at me. He plucked some stray bamboo shoots from my hair. I'd managed to pick most of the vegetables off the rest of me.

"Do I want to know?"

"About the bamboo shoots or the Jeep?"

He glanced down at Li again and smiled. "I've got a pretty good guess about the bamboo shoots. What happened to the Jeep?"

I told him about the maroon sedan.

"And you expect me to believe this was just a random act?"

I shrugged. "It might be. I mean, these things happen, right?"

"Not to you," Morelli replied pointedly. "Call me if you want my help. And try not to get barbequed."

He turned and left just as two black Rangeman SUVs pulled into the fire lane behind him. Tank got out of the first SUV, walked over, and handed me the keys.

"Sorry you lost the betting pool," I told him.

"No biggie," he replied with a shrug. "There's always next time."

To someone else, it might have felt like a jab. To me, he spoke just the honest truth.

"Need help loading him in?" Tank asked, nodding toward Li.

"Please."

Li gave no struggle as Tank literally picked him up and plunked him into the backseat of the SUV, securing his leg shackles to the metal loops in the floor. Lula, Mary Lou, and I all piled in and delivered Li to the police station. I drove Mary Lou home and Lula back to the bonds office. I used the bathroom mirror in the bonds office to pick the rest of the vegetables out of my hair. Connie cut me a check and I cashed it on my way downtown to see Ranger.


	14. Fourteen

FOURTEEN

I parked the SUV in the underground garage at Rangeman, then rode the elevator to the seventh floor. I knocked before unlocking the door to Ranger's apartment, dropping my keys into the silver bowl on the credenza in the entrance.

Ranger stretched out on his couch, a pillow propping up his back as he typed on his laptop. A silver Bluetooth earpiece sat in his ear. His cell phone and a pile of papers and files were neatly organized on his coffee table. Working from home came the closest he would manage to following the rest and recuperate orders.

"So, what do you have on Fortecelli?" I asked, sitting down in an arm chair next to the couch and dropping my bag onto the floor next to me.

Ranger nodded toward the folder on the top of the stack. "CampTech sent me Fortecelli's entire employment file. The address listed is old. The apartment was leased to a new tenant months ago. I also got you an appointment with CampTech's human resources director tomorrow at nine, and you will have the opportunity to speak with some of the people he worked with."

I picked up the file and glanced through it. "Looks like he had his paychecks direct deposited. I might get a lead on an address from there."

"I already checked. The account closed shortly after he received his final paycheck."

The rest of the employment file looked insignificant. Nothing pointed toward Fortecelli being a problem employee, and he had given two weeks written notice before quitting. "I was really hoping CampTech would give me a new lead," I said as I put the file in my bag. "But I have a feeling you didn't ask me to come over here just to give me a dead-end employment file."

Ranger's lips curled into an almost smile. "I know Fortecelli's street name."

"Fortecelli has a street name?"

The almost smile became a full smile. "Crumbs."

"Crumbs?" I repeated back. "What the hell kind of street name is that?"

"It gets better," Ranger continued, still smiling. "He has a business partner whose street name is Cookie."

"Cookie and Crumbs? You're messing with me."

"I'm not. I couldn't make this up if I tried."

"You expect me to believe white-as-white-can-be George Fortecelli and his partner are out pushing pot as the Cookie Crumbs team?"

Ranger reached into his pocket and pulled out an empty plastic bag. A cheap sandwich baggie, the kind my mother used to wrap my PB&J in for my school lunches. He handed it to me. A round sticker had been placed on the front, with a streaky image of a broken chocolate chip cookie that looked like it had been printed on a home printer running out of ink. There were a few crumbs in the bottom of the bag. I opened it and got a whiff of chocolate.

"I was expecting pot, but all I smell is chocolate."

"That's because it was a pot brownie. From what I could gather, Cookie and Crumbs cornered the market on pot edibles. And their products are popular."

"Any word on if their sudden popularity stepped on anyone's toes?"

"No, at least not from my source. They stayed out of the gang territories."

I stuffed the baggie into my purse. "Cookie and Crumbs. I think I'm starting to get it now. Anyone on the street happen to know where Cookie or Crumbs live?"

"Yes, I got an address for Crumbs."

I waited for a few beats. "Well, aren't you going to tell me?"

"No, I'm going to take you there."

My hands went to my hips instinctively. "You are supposed to be resting. Just give me the address."

"Babe, I'm not letting you go alone to the apartment of a known drug dealer. Especially since its more than likely he's the one who set your car on fire a few hours ago. And the only way I know to prevent you from going there alone is by not giving you the address. You can either let me come with you or you cannot go at all."

My fists balled where they sat on my hips and I tried very hard to contain the simmering anger. I didn't do well when the men in my life ordered me around. Part of me wanted to tell Ranger to go fuck himself, waltz out of his apartment, and slam the door. I could then spend the next few days canvassing Stark Street, asking if anyone knew Crumbs and where he lived and praying I didn't get robbed, or worse. Or I could suck it up and accept Ranger's offer.

"If you walk out, I'm putting a tail on you, in case you get any crazy ideas about walking down Stark Street asking about Crumbs," Ranger added, seemingly reading my mind.

"Sometimes I hate you," I shot back. "Let's go."

Ranger grinned at me. He knew I didn't hate him, not even a little.

A few minutes later, Ranger appeared from his bedroom dressed like his usual self in black boots, black cargo pants, black Rangeman sweatshirt, and a black Glock on his hip. We rode the elevator back to the garage and he led me to a black Rangeman SUV.

We didn't speak while Ranger drove. Still feeling pissed, I decided to give him the silent treatment. Though, seeing as Ranger didn't often make small talk, it likely served as a very ineffective means of displaying my anger.

We passed the Union Bar and Ranger turned right, traveled two blocks and parked in a small lot behind a low-rise, white brick apartment building. I glanced around the lot. No maroon four-door sedan with tinted windows here. The building looked to have been recently painted and the other cars in the lot weren't new, but they weren't pieces of trash either. Bare but tidy gardens flanked the entrance. It didn't look like an awful place to live. In fact, it reminded me of my own apartment building.

We walked to the door, which stood locked. A flat gray pad adhered to the brick next to the entrance would recognize a key fob, if we had one. A panel of names and buttons, along with a call box, sat to the right of the gray pad.

"That's your guy," Ranger said, pointing to a name on the panel. It read George Baresi. No wonder all my leads had fizzled. Fortecelli used an alias.

I pressed the button next to the name, but no one answered.

Ranger ran a finger down the line of buttons on the left side and someone buzzed us in without even asking who we were. We slipped into the building and I followed Ranger up the stairs to the third floor. He stopped in front of the door to 3E.

I knocked and we waited half a minute. No one came to the door and I couldn't hear anyone moving around inside. I tried the knob, not surprised to find it locked.

Ranger slid a set of lock picks out of his sweatshirt pocket and within a minute, the door swung open. A few shafts of light crept in through a drawn curtain, but otherwise the apartment sat in darkness.

A small flashlight appeared out of Ranger's pocket. He unholstered his Glock, held the lit flashlight against the side of the gun, and stepped into the apartment. I let him sweep the space. After two minutes, Ranger reappeared and motioned for me to enter. I closed the door behind me and Ranger flicked a light switch.

The apartment appeared to be a small one bedroom unit. We had entered into a small foyer, with a row of empty coat hooks on the wall and a small bench under them. A pair of snow boots sat underneath the bench. The foyer led to a galley kitchen, with a breakfast bar that jutted out into a small, open floorplan dining room and living room. A door across from the kitchen led to a modest sized bedroom. The furniture looked newer. A round, dark oak dining table with four matching chairs and two matching barstools sat in the dining area. The living room contained a large, beige sectional sofa, the kind with recliners built into each end. It faced a large, wall mounted flat screen TV. A complicated looking entertainment system filled a console under the TV. The entire apartment appeared clean and tidy. Too clean and tidy.

"Unless George Fortecelli has maid service, I think someone was here before us," I said, opening the fridge. It had been cleared of all perishables.

"Come look at this," Ranger said from the living room. I joined him and found him examining a wooden wall shelf. It measured about four feet long and hung about five feet off the floor. Four framed photos rested on it. "Notice anything odd?" he asked.

I noticed immediately. "The photos are spaced weird. There is a gap between the first and third, and the placement of the last picture frame seems odd."

"There used to be six frames on this shelf. You can see there's no dust where the other two stood," Ranger added.

I examined the pictures more closely, and any doubt that George Baresi was George Fortecelli faded from my mind. An aging graduation photo clearly showed a young George Fortecelli in his high school cap and gown. Another showed an older George posing at what looked like the Grand Canyon. The rest of the photos appeared to be of family, but no one I recognized. I took the Grand Canyon photo out of the frame and slid it into my bag. People responded better to being shown actual photos, rather than mug shots. It made them more likely to tell me what they knew.

We combed through the rest of the apartment. Opened mail sat on the kitchen counter, addressed to George Baresi, but it contained nothing out of the ordinary. A small computer desk squatted in the corner of the bedroom, but the PC tower was missing. A cheap color printer sat next to the monitor, the tray full of round stickers with a picture of a broken cookie. Inside the bedroom closet we found a small safe on the floor, but it stood open and empty. At no point did we find a single leaf of marijuana in the apartment.

I went back into the kitchen and started opening cabinets.

"What are you looking for?" Ranger asked, following me into the galley kitchen.

"Baking sheets and cake pans. You said Crumbs sold edibles, but there aren't any baking pans here. Unless someone cleared them out already, I don't think Crumbs baked his products here."

"Maybe that's why Cookie is called Cookie. Maybe he's the baker."

"Or she," I replied. "If you think about it, women tend to be into baking more than men. And the missing photos might be pictures of George with Cookie. Maybe she's his girlfriend. Did anyone give you a description of Cookie?"

"My source never met Cookie, only Crumbs. He only knew Cookie existed because Fortecelli mentioned the name."

"Cookie could be his pet name for his girlfriend."

"Like how Morelli calls you cupcake?"

"Yeah. She might not even be involved in the drugs at all."

"Then who bakes Crumbs' brownies?"

"Maybe he does. I just don't think he does it here." I walked back to the bedroom and started looking more closely in dresser drawers.

"Looking for women's undies?"

"Yes. Or something to indicate that there was a girlfriend involved. If I can find her, maybe I can find Fortecelli." I opened the drawer of the bedside table. "Ah ha! Condoms!"

"Doesn't prove he had a girlfriend, just that he hoped he would get lucky," Ranger remarked.

As we left, we turned the lights back off, careful to leave the apartment exactly as we found it, with one small addition. I put my business card on the kitchen counter and dug through my purse to find a pen. I wrote Cookie, Call Me! across the back of the business card.

Ranger gave me a curious look.

"I'm at a dead end. I need to up the ante."

Ranger locked the door as we left.

"While we're here, I'd like to knock on a few doors and see if any of his neighbors have seen him," I told Ranger.

The first two doors went unanswered, but an elderly man cautiously cracked the door to 3A. He peered out at me, the security chain securely engaged.

"Hi, I'm Stephanie Plum. I'm looking for George. He lives in 3E. Have you seen him recently?"

"George? No, can't say I've seen him since Christmas. Have we met before? You look awfully familiar?"

"I don't think so. Do you know George's girlfriend?"

"He had a girlfriend?" The old man scratched his stubbly beard. "I remember where I've seen you! You're that chickie who got stuck in the tree in the park on Elm street. I saw you on YouTube."

I bit back a sigh and handed the man my card. "If you happen to see George, could you please give me a call?"

"Want to knock on any more doors?" Ranger asked with a grin as we turned away from 3A.

"Sometimes, I hate my life. Let's see if the building super is in."

We trooped back downstairs and found the door labeled "building supervisor." I knocked, surprised when a young woman answered. She glanced at me before ogling Ranger, undressing him with her eyes.

"Are you the building super?" I asked, sounded a little snippier than I'd intended.

Her eyes moved reluctantly back to me. "Yes, believe it or not."

I introduced myself and handed her my business card with my left hand. "George Baresi is in violation of a bond agreement. Have you seen him recently?"

She shook her head. "Last I saw him was the day after Christmas. He stopped by to pay his rent for January. To be honest, I really only ever saw him once a month, when he dropped off the rent money. But I'll try to keep an eye out." She gave Ranger another once-over before closing her door.

"I saw that," Ranger said as we turned toward the parking lot.

"Saw what?"

"After she looked at me, you handed her the business card with your left hand to make sure she noticed the rings."

"I did not! I mean, okay, I used my left hand, but that doesn't mean anything." Or did it? These damn rings were making me do things I didn't even know I was doing. I began pulling at the rings aggressively as we crossed the macadam lot, ignoring the pain as I urged them to move past my knuckle. Right now, I didn't care if I ripped off half my skin or broke my damn finger. I needed to be rid of them.

Ranger took my left hand suddenly, halting my ring removal attempts. "Don't hurt yourself." He kissed the back of my hand, then laced his fingers between mine for the rest of the walk to the SUV. I gave him a questioning look.

"The building super is watching us from her window," he replied, opening my car door for me.

I glanced back and saw the curtains stir as someone quickly pulled away from the window.

"I appreciate you going with hand holding, and not just grabbing me and sticking your tongue down my throat in the parking lot."

Ranger smiled. "The thought crossed my mind."

"But you decided the subtle approach worked better?"

"I decided that if I stuck my tongue down your throat, I would shortly want to stick it other places as well. And that's probably not part of my rest and recovery plan."

Fire flashed through my veins. Definitely not part of his recovery plan.

I pulled Fortecelli's employee file out of my bag as Ranger drove us back to Rangeman. I flipped through it again, hoping I'd missed something the first time. I checked his emergency contact form, hoping I'd overlooked the name of a girlfriend. His emergency contact was his sister. I put the file back in my bag and remembered the Rangeman check. I pulled it out.

"I think your account manager made a mistake," I told Ranger. "I got paid way too much for the Robinson job."

"You get hazard pay because there were shots fired."

"Even with hazard pay, it's too much. I worked for part of one day, not a whole week."

"You went for a one day job, but you ended up needing to stay for a week. I compensate my employees for that."

I heard paper crinkle and realized I'd formed a fist around the check. "You consider the entire time I was in the hospital with you just part of my Rangeman duties?"

"That's not what I meant. The situation caused you to be away from Trenton. You couldn't do any work for Vinnie."

The thought that the check represented pity money brought my blood to the boiling point. "Staying was a decision I made. No one made me stay. I wanted to be with you and I mistakenly thought you wanted me there."

Ranger suddenly pulled out of the lane of travel and onto the shoulder of the road, putting the SUV in park. He turned so he could look at me, reaching out to put a hand against the side of my face. "There is a very short list of people I want to be with me in a situation like that. You are near the top, and I'm grateful you chose to stay with me." He leaned over the console to place a gentle kiss on my lips. "I'm sorry if you feel insulted because of the check. I can have my account manager cut you a new one."

My fists uncurled. I smoothed out the crumpled check and handed it to Ranger. "Thank you. I only want to be paid for the work I did protecting Chantelle."

"You're sure?" he asked as he took the check. We both understood this amounted to a lot of money for me to give up. I needed to find Fortecelli and every other current FTA to make up for it.

"Yes. It's the right thing to do."

Ranger took the check, folded it, and slid it into his pants pocket. He smiled at me. "You're one of a kind, Babe."

So I'd heard.


	15. FIFTEEN

FIFTEEN

The next morning, I got up at 7:30, showered, dressed professionally, and did the hair and makeup thing. I pulled up to the CampTech guard booth at 8:45. My name appeared on the appointment list this time, so the little security bar went up and I got waved through. I parked in a spot labeled "visitor" and walked into the main lobby. A half-circle reception desk stood along the right wall, staffed by a young woman with short blonde hair and glasses.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Stephanie Plum, I have an appointment to see the human resources director at nine."

"Yes, she's expecting you. Just take the elevator to the second floor, turn left and follow the hall to the end."

I followed her directions and soon found myself outside the door of Sharon Emerson, human resources director. The door stood open, but I knocked anyway. Sharon looked up from her computer screen. She was middle aged and her pant suit fit just a bit too snug on her body, forming a muffin top. Her brown hair, streaked with gray, had been pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head.

"Stephanie Plum?"

I nodded.

"I hope you realize how many strings had to get pulled to get you in here this morning. We treat our employees like family and we take their confidentiality seriously. I understand you already received George's employment file. I've been directed to offer you whatever other assistance you may need."

Miss Polly Sunshine clearly wasn't from the Burg, because there was no such thing as confidentiality there. "Thank you." I think. "I read over George's file yesterday. Were there any issues with George as an employee that perhaps never got reported to his file?"

"All issues are always addressed in the file. If there is nothing in the file, there were no issues."

Yeah, right. Not in this universe, I don't care how tight a ship you run.

"I was told I would have an opportunity to speak with George's direct supervisor and co-workers."

Sharon's lips pulled tight in a scowl. "That is correct. Follow me."

I moved quickly aside to allow Sharon to pass and followed her back down the hallway. We rode the elevator in awful awkward silence to the sublevel. The elevator's back doors opened into a huge manufacturing floor. Half a dozen different production lines working simultaneously made the roar of machinery almost deafening. Sharon pulled a set of earplugs out of her pocket and shoved them into her ears. She offered me nothing.

I followed Sharon across the expansive factory. Four or five football fields could easily fit inside the space. We finally stopped in the quality management section. Over a dozen workers were busy checking the stitching on fresh-off-the-line tents. A few pitched the tents, expertly erecting them and taking them down in a matter of minutes, over and over again.

A tall man with a full beard, wearing dirty-kneed khaki cargo pants and a green CampTech polo shirt, came forward to meet us.

"Charlie Keefer," he shouted, extending his hand to me.

"Stephanie Plum," I shouted back, shaking his hand.

"You should be wearing hearing protection," he shouted again. He pulled a new set of ear plugs out of one of the pockets of his khakis and gave them to me.

I ripped open the little plastic bag and popped the ear plugs into my ears and the background noise faded to a manageable level.

"I got her from here," Charlie told Sharon. He waited for her to walk away before asking, "So what you want to know about George Fortecelli?"

"What kind of worker was he?"

"Good. Showed up on time, did what needed to be done."

"Was he friendly with any of his co-workers?"

"It isn't like we can have office banter around here. He was social enough during breaks, but no one invited him out for beers after the shift."

"Never any problems? Maybe the kind you handled as his supervisor, but didn't report to HR?"

"Sorry, George really was a good worker."

"Do you know why he quit?" I shouted.

"He told me he wanted to start his own business. Said he wanted to help people and be his own boss."

"Did he work with most of these people? Can I talk to them?"

"Sure." Charlie led me around so I could question the other line workers. No one had anything bad to say about George, and no one seemed to know him beyond work. I thanked Charlie for his time and took the elevator back to the first floor, removed the ear plugs, and went back to the SUV.

I sat in the CampTech parking lot for a few minutes, trying to decide what I should do next. I had other skips to track down. Eventually I needed to decide whether it was worth my time to continue to pursue Fortecelli or just relegate him to the MIA category.

I decided I would give Fortecelli the rest of today, then devote the rest of my week to my other skips. Since I'd hit dead ends chasing after clues in Fortecelli's personal life, I figured I needed to go after professional leads. First up was Gary Lucas, the cop assigned to Fortecelli's arson case. I grabbed my cell phone and decided to pick Morelli's brain first.

"What's up, Cupcake?"

"I'm tracking down an FTA. Gary Lucas is the cop assigned his case, but it's arson, so I'm wondering why it didn't go to Marsh or Hansen?"

"Is this the Boulder Street fire?"

"Yeah."

"It was originally assigned to Marsh, but the arson division is a little overwhelmed right now. Hansen's wife just had their second kid, so he's out on family leave. When some city councilman found out the case would be backburnered, he came in and pitched a fit. So, Lucas took it as a favor to Marsh."

"Was the councilman Marcus Greenridge?"

"Yes. He's a pain in our ass. He's always sticking his nose into cases."

"How so?"

"Pushing for harsher charges, usually. But occasionally he'll ask for leniency."

"And does he usually get what he wants?"

Morelli sighed. "There's lots of politics involved. He's a councilman, and not only does he control those purse strings, but he also donates generously as a private citizen."

"So, is Lucas at his desk today?"

"Yeah. Should I give him a heads up?"

"No, I'd rather catch him cold."

I hung up and drove to the police station. I found Gary Lucas working on reports at his desk.

"Knock, knock," I said outside his cubicle.

Lucas looked up. He was a good ten years older than me, with balding hair and the beginning of a beer gut showing through his button-up dress shirt. Thanks to the Burg rumor mill, I knew he was recently divorced, with painfully large alimony and child support payments.

"Stephanie, what can I do for you?"

"I'm trying to track down George Fortecelli. I heard you took his arson case. Bit different from your usual drug cases, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but Marsh was overrun and we were being pressured to find the arsonist, so I did him a favor and took it."

"Was it Marcus Greenridge doing the pressuring? I heard he went with you to the bar when you served the warrant for the surveillance footage."

"For whatever reason, he took an interest in this fire. Turned out to be a good thing."

"How so?"

"We identified George Fortecelli pretty quickly, but couldn't locate him. His DMV address listed an empty lot. When Greenridge found out we hadn't made the arrest yet, and I explained why, he pointed me to an address a few blocks from the fire. Fortecelli was apparently staying with a friend, George Baresi. We made the arrest there."

"Any issues when you arrested him?"

"No. He came very quietly. Only time he got upset was when he heard he was being charged with felony second degree arson."

"It does seem a bit severe, considering the building was slated to be demolished anyway and Fortecelli had a clean record."

Lucas shrugged. "I originally filed it as a misdemeanor, but Greenridge pitched a fit. He went over my head and I got told to up the charges. I figured any lawyer worth his salt would plea it down anyway."

"Thanks for your time," I told him, walking away.

Morelli caught me before I reached the exit.

"Get anything useful out of Lucas?"

"Actually, yes."

Morelli glanced at my hand. "Are you even trying to get the rings off."

"Yes," I huffed indignantly.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Sort of." I sighed. "I'm out of ideas. Nothing works."

"Why don't you just go to a jeweler and get them cut off?"

"Wait, they can do that?"

Morelli rolled his eyes. "You didn't know?"

"Obviously not."

Morelli pulled me into an empty office, pressed me against the wall, and kissed me with a lot of tongue. "Call me when you get them off," he said, pulling away and walking out.

I tugged the wrinkles out of my shirt and fixed my hair before exiting as well. Leaving the police station, I decided to visit Councilman Greenridge's office. My curiosity peaked when Lucas mentioned that Greenridge pointed them to the apartment under Baresi's name. And Greenridge seemed to be the one really pushing for the book to get thrown at Fortecelli. It made me wonder how Greenridge knew about Fortecelli's alias and why he held such a grudge.

Marcus Greenridge had a shiny new office space downtown. It was on the ground floor of a large office building only a few blocks from Rangeman. Greenridge For Mayor signs hung prominently in the front windows. I breezed through the front door and found myself in a large open office. About a dozen desks dotted the floor space, where eager staffers busily fielded calls from concerned citizens, assembled campaign signs, and put together fundraisers. The back quarter of the office had been divided into private offices.

"How may I help you?" asked the young woman behind the desk closest to the door.

"I'd like to speak with Marcus Greenridge."

The woman clicked something on her computer screen. "His first available appointment is next Wednesday at 2pm. Does that work for you?"

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to him today. I only need a minute. It's about the fire last month on Boulder Street that destroyed a condemned building."

"I'm sorry, but Councilman Greenridge is all booked up today." She shot me a simpering smile.

On a whim, I concocted a pile of BS. "I understand. I just hope my readers understand. I write a crime blog. Maybe you've heard of it, Troubled Trenton? There's a dangerous firebug on the loose and I heard Mr. Greenridge was going to run on a tough-on-crime platform. But clearly I was mistaken."

I turned to leave and the receptionist called, "Wait! Perhaps the Councilman's last appointment ended early. Let me just go check. Please, have a seat." She indicated a very modernistic gray couch. "May I have your name?"

I had to think quickly. If I gave my real name, chances are I would be immediately asked to leave. My name and my antics were well known. "Stephanie Manoso," I replied with a smile and a prayer that she didn't try to Google me or my fake blog.

The receptionist flounced into one of the private offices and emerged a minute later, returning to her desk.

"You're in luck," she said with a genuine smile. "Councilman Greenridge has a few minutes available between appointments."

Imagine that. I walked to the office and knocked lightly on the door as I entered.

Marcus Greenridge sat behind a polished mahogany desk. In his middle fifties, his salt and pepper hair gave him an air of sophisticated maturity. He wore a tailored black suit, white dress shirt, and silver stripped tie. A fancy phone with about a million different buttons sat on the desk, along with a large touch screen computer monitor and wireless keyboard and mouse. A set of matching mahogany bookshelves sat against the wall directly across from the door. The shelves were filled with an assortment of richly bound books, awards, and framed photographs of the councilman with various other public officials and minor celebrities.

"Ms. Manoso, was it?" Greenridge asked as I entered. I could immediately tell from his expression that he recognized me. But if he didn't plan to call me on it, I planned to stick to my lie.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I was hoping to speak with you about the fire on Boulder Street last month."

"I'm not sure what I can tell you that wasn't already reported in the local papers. And the culprit was apprehended."

"He failed to report for his court date."

"Did he? Perhaps you ought to be speaking with the apprehension agent assigned to find him."

Touché. "Okay, clearly you know who I am."

"I do, Miss Plum. But I'm curious as to why you're here, so I'm not going to have you immediately escorted off premises."

I figured I might as well cut to the chase. "I want to know why you're so eager to see George Fortecelli behind bars? He burned down a crack house slated for demolition. That's a misdemeanor, at most, but you pushed for a felony charge."

"In a civilized society, citizens can't take the law into their own hands. Vigilantism can be just as dangerous as the criminals. There are some, of course, who would disagree with that. Some businessmen in the area who might benefit from such behavior. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Plum. Or is it Mrs. Manoso?" His eyes focused on the wedding bands.

I caught the subtle dig at Ranger and decided to let it go.

"So, you think Fortecelli is a vigilante because he burned down a crack house?"

"No, I think Fortecelli is an arsonist with a conscience. He can't control the urge to burn things, so he's eased his guilty conscience by torching places no one will miss. The problem is, it's only a matter of time before a firefighter gets injured or killed, or the place next door goes up too. The public deserves to be kept safe from him."

"Did you ever meet Fortecelli personally?" I asked.

"No. I saw the footage of him setting the fire on Boulder Street and his mug shot."

"But you helped point the police to where he was hiding? Not many people knew about his apartment under the name of George Baresi."

Greenridge's eyes narrowed. "I asked around at the Union Bar. It wasn't hard to find someone who knew where Fortecelli lived. I certainly hope you locate him soon, before he strikes again."

"I'm trying my best."

Greenridge gave me a cold smile. "I'm sure you are, but please be careful. I would be a shame for Trenton to lose an asset such as yourself."

I couldn't tell if his words contained a veiled threat or just an insult. Either way, I began to agree with the owner of the Union Bar. Marcus Greenridge embodied as slimy a politician as they came. I left his office and walked back to the receptionist's desk.

"Thank you so much," I gushed to her. "I really appreciate you being able to fit me in. My readers will be so happy to know Councilman Greenridge is fighting to protect Trenton. Mr. Greenridge said there is one more thing you might be able to help me with. He sees so many people, he couldn't recall if he'd ever met a colleague of mine. Do you recall if this man recently visited Mr. Greenridge?" I flashed her the photo of George Fortecelli I'd taken from his apartment. "His name is George Baresi."

The receptionist studied the photo for a few seconds. "I think so. The name sounds familiar, but it is hard to remember all the people who come to see the Councilman. Let me see if he had an appointment." She typed something into the computer and smiled. "Yes. Councilman Greenridge had an appointment with George Baresi on December 26th. If I remember right, he came in with a manila envelope full of photos."

"Thank you, you're the best. Have a good day."

I left and went back to my SUV, trying to process the information I'd just stumbled upon. Greenridge gave me bad vibes. He'd seen Fortecelli the day before he'd missed court and lied about it. Then he'd implied that Fortecelli had burned down more than one crack house, which was news to me. I needed to do some more digging. And for that I needed something better than Google. I need the kind of programs Ranger used.

I remoted myself into the Rangeman garage, then parked and took the elevator to the seventh floor. With my fist poised to knock, Ranger opened his apartment door.

"Tank called to say you were on your way up," he said, stepping aside so I could come in. "Did you eat yet? Ella just brought up a late lunch."

I shot him a playful smile. "Your mother would be disappointed. Another wasted opportunity to cook for me."

Ranger made a sound that might have been a sigh. "What will it take to get you to forget you ever heard that?"

"I'm not forgetting that, it's too good."

He closed the distance between us, piercing me with his eyes. "Everyone has a price. Name it."

I shook my head. "You're not going to intimidate me."

This time, Ranger definitely sighed. "I'm losing my touch. There was a time, not too long ago, where I could make you squirm with just a look."

"There was," I agreed, holding his gaze.

"When did that change?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. It just did, a little bit at a time, I think. Is that a problem?"

"It might be," he replied cryptically.

"I'm not going to tell anyone you know how to cook. You know that, right? I might tease you in private, but I know when to keep my mouth shut. You keep me at arm's length emotionally, so can you blame me for enjoying a little insight when it comes my way? Hell, the EMT's asked me your birthdate and the best I could do was tell them your age."

"Would you like to know my birthdate?"

I smiled. "I know it now. I read your chart at the hospital. I also know you're allergic to Sulfa based antibiotics."

Giving me a hint of a smile, he said, "Babe." He placed a light kiss on my lips. "Let's eat."

The single setting at Ranger's dining room table soon became two. The grilled chicken breasts, hot minestrone soup, and fresh baked bread provided by Ella smelled delicious. I sat next to Ranger and ladled soup into my bowl.

"You don't usually work through lunch," he commented.

"I feel like I'm getting more pieces to the Fortecelli puzzle, but still not enough to make a complete picture. I spoke with Marcus Greenridge just now. Is there a reason for him to have any animosity toward you?"

Ranger paused with his soup spoon half way to his mouth and I knew I'd hit on something. He put the spoon back into his bowl. "When I was getting Rangeman off the ground, Greenridge and I bumped heads. I needed permits to renovate this building and he didn't want to issue them. He didn't like the fact I'd have holding cells. And he really disliked the gun range. He seemed to be under the impression that I was a ..."

"Vigilante?" I inserted.

"Yes. Do I want to know how I got dragged into your conversation with Greenridge?"

"When his receptionist tried to pencil me in for next week, I fibbed and told her I wrote a crime blog and needed to speak with Greenridge about the Boulder Street fire. When I insinuated that I might write that Greenridge wasn't planning to take a hard stance on crime, an immediate appointment suddenly became available. I knew I couldn't give her my real name, so when she asked I told her I was Stephanie Manoso."

Ranger gave me a hard look. "You need to be careful using my name like that, Babe. Some places in Trenton, it might get you an advantage. Others, it could put you in serious danger."

"Well, Greenridge recognized me, so it didn't really matter. Though, he may think we're actually married. I think the wedding rings confused him. He believes Fortecelli is a vigilante, too. And implied Fortecelli's been involved in more than just the Boulder Street fire. He also knew where Fortecelli was living and tipped off the police. I asked him if he'd personally met Fortecelli and he told me he had not. When I asked his secretary, she revealed Greenridge had met with a man named George Baresi the day before Fortecelli's missed court date."

"So, you think Greenridge is involved somehow?"

"Somehow, but I don't have more than that. Could I use a Rangeman computer this afternoon to do some digging? I want to see if anything new comes up under George Baresi, and now I want to do some snooping on Greenridge too."

"You can use my office off the control room," he replied.


	16. SIXTEEN

SIXTEEN

I woke on Wednesday morning intending to keep my promise to myself. Today, I would use my time to track down some of my other skips. I'd worked late at Rangeman, trying to make sense of the complicated web surrounding Fortecelli. I'd discovered that Baresi was his mother's maiden name, but not much else. If he had a bank account, he used a third alias I didn't know. Greenridge had come back annoying clean, though I suspected he had people who scrubbed his name from anything undesirable. I'd also searched for other suspicious fires at abandoned buildings throughout Trenton. There had been more than expected. I'd written down their addresses, but had run out of time to dig any deeper than that.

Besides Fortecelli, I had two other FTA's: Clay Thompson and Regina Mancini. Thompson looked like an NFL linebacker. He worked as a bouncer for a higher end bar in downtown Trenton. Mancini was in her early twenties and waitressed part-time at Dolly's Diner to work her way through community college. Both were out on bond after DUI charges.

I wasn't looking forward to bringing in Thompson. He looked like he could give Tank a run for his money, so I'd need to think of a good plan before I attempted to cuff him. Mancini seemed like the better bet for a cold January Wednesday. And she worked at a diner, so I could get breakfast. Double win.

I picked Lula up at the bonds office and explained my plan to her while we drove.

"I love Dolly's," Lula remarked. "They fry their eggs in bacon grease. Actually, they fry everything in bacon grease. It's amazing."

Dolly's sat a few blocks outside of the Burg. The restaurant resembled a classic railcar shaped diner, with a slightly dingy stainless steel coating. Big neon letters spelled out "Dolly's" along the front. It had been tucked between two four story brick buildings. A small parking lot fit only four cars in front, with a larger one around back.

With the breakfast rush already over, I found parking in the front lot. Lula and I walked in, instantly bombarded with the aroma of bacon and coffee. A long counter with round stools bolted to the floor ran the length of the diner. Small booths abutted the windows along the outside edges. I glanced around, but didn't see Regina.

Lula and I slid into a booth and an older waitress ambled over, wearing a checkered apron with "Dolly's" embroidered across the chest. She handed us a set of menus tucked into plastic sleeves. "Good morning. Can I start you with something to drink?"

We ordered coffee and the waitress soon returned with two white china mugs and a glass pot of coffee. She took our orders and retreated from the table.

I added my usual cream and sugar to my coffee and took a sip. "Whoa, this stuff could take paint off walls." I dumped in a few more creamers and two more packets of sugar.

"Yeah, they make it good and strong here," Lula replied. "None of that watered down stuff you get at them fancy coffee shops."

I observed the restaurant staff silently for a few minutes. Regina didn't appear to be on shift. Oh well, at least I got breakfast out of the deal.

Our food arrived and I stopped the waitress before she could walk away. "Excuse me. Last time I was here, we had a really nice server. She was young, blonde hair, her name started with an "R," I think. Rachel, maybe? Does she still work here?"

"Oh, you mean Regina," the waitress replied. "Yeah, she still works here. Her college classes are back in session, so she works the afternoon and dinner shift."

Looked like my dinner would be fried in bacon grease too. Good thing I had six months until swimsuit weather.

As we ate, I showed Clay Thompson's file to Lula. "If this guy doesn't want to come willingly, we're going to need a good plan."

Lula looked over Connie's notes. "If he's a bouncer, he probably works real late. I bet if we go to his house after breakfast, we could catch him asleep. He'd be all slow and groggy."

"He might also be pissed as hell that we woke him up."

"We could get him some coffee to go."

"How's he going to drink it if he's cuffed?"

Lula paused. "I didn't think of that. How about, if he doesn't cooperate, we just stun gun him and drag him to the car."

"That's always our fall back plan."

"If it's not broke, don't fix it," Lula said with a shrug.

Except, ninety percent of the time, it didn't work.

I left cash on the table for our breakfast, along with a generous tip for our waitress. It was the least I could do, since, if things went to plan, she'd probably have to cover Regina's shift tomorrow.

Lula and I climbed back into my borrowed Rangeman SUV and drove across town to Clay Thompson's address. We drove past his house once, scoping it out. Thompson lived in the third floor of an old, rundown Victorian house that had been renovated into apartments. The painted siding, perhaps bright once upon a time, had peeled away to reveal mostly dull gray wood. Boards covered one of the first floor windows. A sketchy looking set of external, narrow wooden steps led to Thompson's door. I parked two houses down on the second pass.

Getting out of the SUV, I tucked flexi-cuffs into my back pocket, pepper spray into my front pocket, and placed my charged stun gun into my right jacket pocket for easy access. I tried to ignore the way the wooden steps creaked as Lula and I ascended. Knocking on the door to Thompson's apartment, I waited with bated breath. After a few minutes, I knocked again, louder. This time I heard heavy footsteps approach the door, along with a string of cuss words.

Clay Thompson wrenched open the door. "What the fuck you want?" Clearly, we'd woke him up. His eyes were heavy, his hair matted, and he wore nothing except a tight pair of red boxer briefs.

"You're in violation of your bond. I need you to come with me to get your court date rescheduled."

"Fuck that." Thompson tried to close the door, but I'd anticipated his reaction. I reached through the gap and touched the stun gun to his arm, pressing the button.

Thompson lurched and dropped to his knees, not quite out cold, be severely disoriented.

"Uh oh, I think the jolt woke something else up," remarked Lula, her eyes wide.

I looked down to see that Thompson had a stiffie sticking out the fly of his underwear.

"Should we tuck it back in?" Lula asked.

"Go ahead. I'm not touching it."

"I'm not touching it neither. I touched enough of those for a lifetime when I was a 'ho. Now I only touch the ones I want to touch."

I carefully stepped around Thompson and secured his hands behind his back with the flexi-cuffs. He eyes were slowly regaining focus.

"Help me get him down the stairs," I told Lula.

"Really, you're going to drag him back to jail like that?"

I sighed, walked into Thompsons' apartment, and quickly looked around. In the kitchen I found a dirty dish towel. I carried it out and tucked it into the front of his boxer briefs, so that it hung down like a loin cloth.

Lula and I grabbed Thompson under his armpits and heaved, trying to get him to his feet. He twitched and groaned but couldn't find his footing. So we dragged him onto the landing. I locked his door and pulled it shut behind us. Carefully, we eased Thompson down the steps, ignoring the ominous creaking from our combined weight. Half way down, the creaking turned into a CRACK and my feet fell through the broken board. Lula and Thompson lurched forward, tumbling down the stairs.

I hung from the broken step, legs frantically kicking at air. I tried to pull myself up, but the wood split again and I plummeted to the earth, landing in a heap of garbage bags.

For one terrifying minute, my body forgot how to breath. Finally, one of my gasps drew air into my lungs. I wiggled my fingers and toes, pleased to find I wasn't paralyzed, and rolled out of the garbage. Several of the bags had burst when I landed on them, scattering their frozen contents all over me and the ground.

"Are you okay?" asked Lula, rushing over.

I took stock of my injuries. A few scratches and I'd probably be sore as hell tomorrow, but otherwise, I'd escaped unscathed.

"Yeah. You?" Both knees were ripped out of Lula's leggings and her hair looked wild.

"I'm alright."

I looked back toward the foot of the stairs. "Where's Thompson?"

Lula followed my gaze. "Huh. He was just there, laying on the ground groaning."

We walked back to the foot of the stairs. Thompson was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen towel lay forgotten on the sidewalk.

I drove around the block a couple times and didn't spot Thompson.

"Ugh, what's that smell?" Lula asked.

I sniffed at my jacket and grimaced. "I think it's me. The garbage I fell into was frozen but now it's thawing out."

I dropped Lula at the bonds office and headed home. I stripped out of my clothes in my foyer and stuffed everything, including my winter coat, into a trash bag. Stepping into the shower, I washed my hair twice before getting out. I got dressed, grabbed the trash bag of smelly clothes, and left my apartment.

My upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Whidecker, stood in the lobby, checking her mailbox as I came down the steps.

"Were you having work done on your apartment?" she asked me.

"No," I replied warily. "Did you see workmen there?"

Mrs. Whidecker shook her head. "There was a bunch of hammering on that side of the building this morning. I couldn't hear the bidding on the Price is Right over all the racket. Usually, it's your place that needs work done."

"Nope, not me this time," I told her as I pushed through the door to the parking lot.

I drove to my mother's house and found Grandma Mazur waiting at the door for me. I carried in my bag of stinky garbage clothes.

"I need to use the washing machine," I said, entering the kitchen and dropping the bag onto the floor.

My mother eyed up the bag suspiciously. "I have a load in right now, but I'll do yours next. I'm not going to open that and find blood soaked clothing, am I?"

"No blood," I promised. "I landed in a pile of garbage earlier today."

I saw my mother's eyes drift to the cabinet where she kept the liquor. "Do you need lunch? There's cold cuts from Giovichinni's in the fridge."

I made myself a sandwich and sat down at the small kitchen table. I felt my mother's eyes boring a hole into my left hand. "I'm going to a jeweler after I eat to get them cut off," I assured her.

Leaving my parents' house, I headed back to Hamilton Ave, parking in front of a jewelry store just a few blocks down from the bonds office. A bell rang as I pushed through the door. Illuminated glass fronted display cases lined both sides of the store. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman, greeted me warmly.

"I heard you might have something that can cut rings off. I have two rings that are stuck on my finger."

"Just one moment." The woman disappeared into the back and returned with a small handheld metal device about the size of a pair of scissors. Instead of flat blades, it had a curved hook on one side and a circular blade on the other, with a thumb screw jutting out from the side.

I took a step back. Maybe I should rethink this.

"It's perfectly safe," the woman assured me. "The hook goes under the ring, so there is no risk of cutting your finger."

Taking a shaky breath, I offered up my left hand. She slid the little hook under the first ring.

"This is going to destroy the rings. You're sure about this. Have you tried olive oil?"

"I've tried everything. Please, continue."

The little bell rang again and we both looked toward the door. A man wearing a ski mask over his face stomped inside, brandishing a pistol in one hand and an empty pillow case in the other. The shopkeeper slowly slipped her hand below the rim of the display case and I knew she was pressing a silent alarm.

"Hands where I can see them!" the man shouted. We both raised our hands in the air. The ring cutter slipped off my ring and clattered to the floor.

"What's that?" the robber demanded.

"It's just a ring cutter," the shopkeeper said.

The guy looked at it uncertainly. "Kick it over here," he demanded, pointing the gun at my chest. I kicked the ring cutter over to him and he scooped it up and put it into his pillow case. He pointed the gun at the shopkeeper. "Start emptying the cases. Now. Fast."

Her hands shaking, the jeweler began to unlock cases. The robber put the pillow case on the counter and directed her to start filling it up. His gun swung back and forth between her and me.

"Those rings you got on your hand?" he asked, aiming the barrel at me yet again. "Put them in the bag."

"I c-can't," I stuttered. "They're s-s-stuck."

BANG! He fired a shot into the floor a few inches from my toes. I screamed, jumping backwards against the display case behind me.

"Give me the fucking rings!"

Frantically, I pulled at the rings. They didn't move. "You d-don't w-want these rings," I told him. "They're j-just W-Walmart rings."

"Fine, keep them. Who buys wedding rings from Walmart anyway? Your husband must be a real loser." His attention and gun returned to the shopkeeper.

Finally, he decided he'd gotten enough loot, grabbed the bag back from the shopkeeper, and fled out the door. Sirens could already be heard in the distance as a big black SUV skidded to a halt at the curb. A bunch of guys jumped out of the SUV and gave chase after the robber.

Cautiously, the shopkeeper and I crept out the door and looked down the street. The robber lay prone on the sidewalk, tackled by the men from the SUV.

"Is Rangeman your security company?" I asked her, thinking I recognized one of the guys.

"Yes. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." And Tank stood out in a crowd.

The Rangeman guys yanked the robber to his feet, hands cuffed behind his back, and began to march him back up the street. I made eye contact with Tank and gave him a thumbs up.


	17. SEVENTEEN

SEVENTEEN

The shopkeeper and I retreated back into the jewelry store as the first cop car pulled up. The next half hour involved a flurry of activity. I'd given my official statement to a cop and had just been told I could leave when Tank and Ranger walked through the door. Ranger caught my eye and motioned me to hang on a second.

They spoke with the shopkeeper first, all business. A few minutes later, Ranger walked over to me, leaving Tank to continue talking business with the owner.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I only came in to get the rings cut off. I think the universe is colluding against me."

Ranger nodded toward the hole in the floor where a busy CSI attempted to dig out a bullet. "Don't speak too harshly of the universe. You didn't get shot."

"He wasn't trying to shoot me, just scare me into giving him my rings. He didn't believe they were really stuck."

"How'd you convince him?"

"When I told him they were from Walmart he no longer cared to have them."

Ranger paused. "They're from Walmart?"

"Tank didn't tell you?"

"No."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Tank stiffen where he stood, still speaking with the owner. He shook her hand and then began slowly sidestepping toward the door. Ranger watched him with just his eyes.

I put a hand on Ranger's arm. "It was six in the morning on New Year's Day. He didn't have many options. They are fake wedding rings, why does it matter?"

"I know it's insignificant, but it matters to me."

"Why?"

"Because I like to convey a certain persona and Walmart wedding rings don't fit into that image."

I rolled my eyes. "Good thing for you everyone thinks they're Morelli's and I'm about to get them removed."

I approached the shop owner. "I'm really sorry you got robbed," I told her.

"It's a job hazard," she replied with a shrug. "It's why I have insurance and an alarm system. Plus," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "when I do get robbed, these sexy Rangeman guys show up."

"I don't suppose we can get back to the business of cutting off my rings?"

"I'm sorry, but the robber took my only ring cutter. The police need to photograph and catalog everything he took as evidence before they can return it to me."

Ugh, figures. "Thanks anyway," I told her, returning to Ranger. "The robber took her only set of ring cutters. Looks like you'll have to bear the shame of my Walmart rings for a bit longer."

"Babe," he replied with just a hint of a smile.

My cell phone rang and I looked down to see Morelli's number.

"Hello."

"I heard you got held at gunpoint during a jewelry store heist."

"That makes it sound a lot more exciting than it actually was," I replied. "I happened to be at the jewelry store on Hamilton, getting my rings cut off, when it got robbed."

"So, you're officially divorced from Ranger?"

I sighed. "Not exactly. The robber sort of barged in before the rings could get cut off, and he stole the ring cutter, so now it's in police custody. I don't suppose you feel like tampering with evidence and stealing it for me?"

"How about you just go to a different jewelry store?"

I heard someone say something to Morelli, unable to catch the actual words.

"I need to go," Morelli told me. "Two gangs decided to discuss their differences with bullets this afternoon. I'm up to my eyeballs in bodies."

"So, I don't suppose you'll be available for a dinner date tonight?"

"Cupcake, I'll be lucky if I can go home before midnight."

I hung up, sighed, and looked at Ranger. "I don't suppose you want to be my dinner date?"

"What's the occasion?"

"I have a skip who works the dinner shift waitressing at Dolly's Diner."

"And you have to order dinner in order to bring her in?"

"Well, no, but I need to eat. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

Ranger rolled his eyes. "Count me in. I don't want to miss an opportunity to see you in action."

I sensed the sarcasm. "Watch it," I warned him, "or I'll start spreading it around the Burg that the Walmart rings are from you."

"No you won't. Your mother would kill you."

He had a valid point. "I'll pick you up at six for dinner," I told him before leaving.

I drove a couple blocks to the bonds office and parked.

"Did you see what all the fuss is about up the street?" Lula asked as I walked in.

"Some jewelry store got robbed," I replied as I sat down. I pulled last night's search results out of my messenger bag.

"What's that?" Connie asked.

I filled her and Lula in on my discussion with Lucas and Greenridge the day before. "I tried to research other suspicious fires, but there's so many and I can't find anything to tie them all together."

"Let me see those results," Connie said and I handed over the papers.

After a few silent minutes, Connie divided the papers in four piles. I looked at her expectantly. "A bunch of these fires involved buildings previously owned by the same real estate companies," she explained, returning the papers to me. "Three fires at apartment buildings owned by LandTrenton, two fires at NJ-Highrise properties, and two more at Rental NJ buildings. Rental NJ owned the Boulder Street property before the city bought it out. The last stack are miscellaneous fires that might not be connected."

I looked over the paperwork, wondering how I missed this. "Can we find out who owns these companies?"

Connie began typing and soon gasped. "All three are owned by the same holding company, GNRTech LLC. I can't seem to find a public list of investors in GNRTech, though."

"All those fires can't be coincidence," Lula remarked.

I agreed. "Unfortunately, we may never know if Fortecelli set those fires. Even if I find him, he's not likely to admit to additional arsons."

"Can I see the papers?" Lula asked and I handed them to her. She scanned them over for a few minutes. "I know two of these addresses. They were drug dens, just like the place on Boulder Street."

"Really?" I took the papers back. "Greenridge did call Fortecelli a vigilante. I think I want to talk to some neighbors of these other properties."

Lula and I climbed into my SUV and drove to the closest address. After talking to neighbors at the third address, I decided to assume all the buildings involved were crack houses.

"So, was Fortecelli legitimately trying to clean up the streets or was he just trying to eliminate his competition?" I asked Lula once we were back in the SUV.

"From what I understand, Cookie and Crumbs didn't need to worry about competition," Lula replied. "The folks I talked to seemed to think their products were superior to most other suppliers."

Since we were out anyway, I decided to swing by Clay Thompson's place.

"We gonna try to haul him in again?" Lula asked.

I glanced at the stairs to Thompson's apartment as we rolled past. A couple guys with a ladder were attempting to repair the broken steps. Thompson wasn't anywhere to be seen. "I think I'll let them fix the stairs, first."

"Probably a good call," Lula agreed.

I dropped Lula off at the bonds office and then headed to my parents' house to pick up my laundry. My mother met me at the door with my clothes in a bag and my coat in her hand.

"Thanks," I said, peeking into the bag. "Did you press these?"

My mother's mouth grew grim. "I had calls," she said. "You were held at gunpoint at the jewelry store on Hamilton?"

"I was at the jewelry store when it got robbed. I wasn't held at gunpoint."

She glanced at my left hand.

"And the robber stole the ring cutter," I added.

"Why me?" my mother asked. I think she directed it at God.

I thanked her again for my laundry, pulled on my coat, and headed home.

A few minutes before six, I pulled into the Rangeman garage. Ranger stood near the elevator, waiting for me. I filled him in on Connie's discovery regarding the other suspicious fires.

"She couldn't seem to find any public listing on the investors in GNRTech," I finished.

"I'll have someone look into it," Ranger replied.

The front lot of Dolly's Diner was full, so I parked around back. All the tables and most of the stools were occupied. Ranger and I stood near the entrance, waiting for a booth to open up.

"That couple has paid and been finished for several minutes," I grumbled, nodding toward the booth at the far end. "They're just talking."

Ranger shot me a smile. "Would you like me to make them leave?"

"How are you going to do that?"

Ranger shot the couple a glare that, if directed at me, might have made my blood run cold. It only took a few seconds for the man facing us to squirm in his seat, and suddenly he and his date were putting on their coats and exiting. The man carefully avoided eye contact with Ranger as they passed us.

A bus boy cleared the table as Ranger and I took it.

"And you thought you'd lost your touch," I told him with a grin.

Regina approached our table with a smile and handed us menus, then took our drink order.

"That's my skip," I told Ranger quietly after she walked away.

"Do you have a plan?"

"After I pay the bill, I quietly introduce myself and ask her to come with me at the end of her shift."

The tiniest hint of a smile pulled at Ranger's mouth. "And if that doesn't work?"

I shrugged. "I'll end up chasing her down and probably roll in garbage for the second time today."

Ranger grinned. "The second time?"

I gave an abbreviated version of my attempt to bring in Thompson this morning.

"Babe." I could tell it took him great effort not to laugh at me.

Regina reappeared with Ranger's water and my Coke and took our orders. I stared at Ranger as she walked away.

"Did you just order a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings?"

"I believe that's what I said."

"You feeling okay?"

Ranger rolled his eyes. "Tonight is an indulgence." His eyes roved across my chest in a way that sparked a rush of heat directly to my core. His voice dropped and he leaned slightly forward, "Especially since I can't indulge in what I really want."

After we finished eating, Regina took the bills I handed her and went to get my change. I pulled one of my business cards out of my pocket and when she returned, slid it across the table to her.

"I represent your bail bondsman and you're in violation of your bond. I don't want to cause a scene. When your shift ends, I'd like you to come with me to get your court date rescheduled."

Regina paled, her eyes darting to the door.

"If you run, you'll lose your job. I'll chase you down, make a scene, and handcuff you in front of everyone. Do it my way and no one needs to know. You can simply call off sick tomorrow."

Regina glanced at Ranger and then back at me. "Okay, but when it comes time to handcuff and frisk me, I want him to do it." She nodded at Ranger.

"We're not cops. We don't frisk people," I replied.

"Could you let him frisk me anyway?"

I sighed. "Sure, he'll frisk you, as long as you come quietly."

Underneath the table, Ranger kicked me softly.

"Deal," Regina said. "My shift ends in half an hour. You want some pie or something while you wait?"

"Sure, what's good?"

"The lemon meringue is my favorite, but the blueberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream is our most popular dessert."

"One of each," I replied.

"I'm not frisking her," Ranger hissed as soon as Regina walked away.

"You don't have to. Once she's in handcuffs, there's not much she can do about it."

Half an hour later, Ranger and I slipped into our jackets and made our way to the front of the restaurant. I bent down, pretending to tie my shoe, as we waited for Regina to hang up her apron and put on her coat. She retrieved her purse from under the counter and walked out the door. Ranger and I followed a few steps back.

"So, how does this work?" Regina asked as we reached the rear parking lot. "What about my car? I'll need it to get home and my boss will wonder why it's still in the lot."

"Ranger will drive you in the SUV. If you give me your keys, I'll follow in your car and park it outside the police station. That way it'll be there for you tomorrow."

"I guess that works." She dug in her purse and handed me a set of keys. Then she looked at Ranger. "It's okay if you need to be a little forceful when you cuff me. I like it rough."

I tried not to laugh as I handed Ranger a pair of flexi-cuffs. Regina looked at them and frowned. "What, no metal handcuffs?"

"Sorry to disappoint," I replied as Ranger secured her hands behind her back with the plastic cuffs. I tossed him the keys to the SUV and he caught them one handed.

"He didn't frisk me either," she added, pouting.

"Yeah, I lied about that part," I admitted.

I followed Ranger to the police station and collected my body receipt for Regina. Then I drove Ranger back to Rangeman.

"Thanks for being my dinner date," I told him as I pulled into the parking garage.

"Anytime," he replied, then added, "as long as it isn't dinner at your parents'." He leaned over and kissed me softly before getting out.


	18. EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN

I woke with a start and it took me half a second to figure out why. The smoke alarms blared. I groaned and looked at my bedside clock. It showed 2:57 in the morning. I looked around my bedroom. It was dark. No flickering firelight.

The beeping continued.

I got out of bed and padded through the living room, still half asleep. The standard procedure for times like these involved sticking your head out into the hall and grumbling with the other tenants until the fire department arrived, cleared the building, and the super reset the alarms. Probably, some insomniac had burned a bag of microwave popcorn again. I grabbed my doorknob and yelped, instinctively pulling my hand back against my body. I blinked back a few tears from the sudden pain. Scalding heat radiated from the metal doorknob.

I flicked on my lights and squinted until my eyes adjusted. A smoky haze began to fill my apartment as more smoke crept in from around my door. Not good. On the floor I spotted a piece of paper. It looked like it had been slipped under my door sometime during the night. I picked it up and found one of Cookie and Crumbs' stickers on the back. Underneath it, I found the business card I'd left in Fortecelli's apartment, with my message asking Cookie to call me written in my own hand on the back.

I grabbed Rex's aquarium off the kitchen counter, dropped the paper with the sticker and business card inside it, and walked calmly back to my bedroom. Good thing for fire escapes, I thought. I put Rex's aquarium onto the carpet and unlocked my bedroom window, then used my left hand to push it up. Except it didn't go up. My right hand really stung from touching the molten doorknob, but I ignored the pain, put both hands on the bottom of my window and pushed. Nothing. A tremor of terror crept through me.

Calm, I told myself, I need to stay calm. Problem solve.

The smoke grew thicker, causing my eyes to burn. I doubled checked the locks on the window. They were in the unlocked position. I pushed on the frame again with no success.

I could feel the panic setting in. Break the window, I thought. I ran to my closet and dug through it for the baseball bat that lived in the back. I had it for self-defense, from before Ranger bought me my .45. It was handy to keep around and it didn't require bullets.

My right hand felt like it was on fire, so I gripped the bat in my left hand and swung it at the window. DONG. It bounced off the glass with surprising force, but didn't make even a single crack. I tried again. DONG. I gripped the bat with both hands, tears sliding down my face from the pain, and swung it as hard as I could. DONG.

My bedroom window had been an unsettling point of entry into my apartment for more than one creep. It had also been broken numerous times. More than likely, it had been replaced with impact resistant glass, for my protection. Probably a good decision at the time. Not so good right now.

I coughed. The smoke made it hard to see. I could hear the crackle of flames now as the panic reached critical level. My lights blinked a few times and went out, leaving me in the hazy darkness. A terrifying, flickering glow illuminated the area around my front door. I shut my bedroom door and yanked the comforter off my bed, stuffing it into the crack below the door to try and slow the smoke. Outside, sirens screamed as fire trucks and police cars piled into the building's lot. I banged on the window, but I knew no one could hear me over the sirens, and with no electricity, no one could see me either.

Suddenly, I remembered my cell phone. If I called 9-1-1, they could tell the fire department to rescue me. I grabbed it off my nightstand and pressed the button on the side, waiting for the screen to light up. It stayed stubbornly dark. I tried again, with no success. I held down the power button but the phone didn't boot. I'd forgotten to plug it in before I went to bed. The battery must have died.

Returning to the window, I dropped the useless piece of technology into Rex's cage in the off chance someone rescued me. Then I knelt by the stubborn window, tears falling onto the carpet as I hugged the aquarium to my chest. Smoke continued to fill the room, laboring my breathing. Suddenly, I heard the screech of metal rubbing metal and I looked up in time to see my fire escape shake slightly under the weight of someone climbing it. I started pounding on the window again, screaming for help.

I expected to see a brawny fireman appear on my landing. Instead, Ranger came into view.

"Steph, open your window," he shouted in at me.

"I can't, it's stuck," I shouted back before doubling over in a fit of coughing.

Ranger pulled out a flashlight and pointed it at my window before cursing. The flashlight disappeared and his Glock appeared, pointed at the glass. "Move aside," he yelled.

I scrambled away, pushing Rex's aquarium into the corner and putting my body over the top as I covered my ears.

BANG. My ears rang. The glass in the window spider webbed, but stayed annoyingly intact. BANG. The second shot shattered the glass into a thousand tiny pieces. Ranger vaulted through it before all the shards hit the floor.

His hands were on me before I could even stand. He pulled me to my feet and against him for just a second, before pushing me toward the broken window. "Out," he ordered, stooping to grab Rex's aquarium.

It wasn't until I stepped on the broken glass that I realized I'd never put shoes on. Too late now. I scrambled out the window and onto the freezing fire escape. Ranger passed Rex's aquarium out the window to me before climbing out himself. He took Rex back as I started down the metal ladder, trying to hang on to the rail with just my left hand. My toes finally brushed cold asphalt and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Ranger stepped off the last rung and gently placed Rex's cage on the ground, then he pulled me into an embrace. I gripped his shirt and tried unsuccessfully to bite back the sob that escaped my lungs.

"It's okay. You're safe," he mumbled into my hair, holding me tighter.

"I couldn't get the stupid window open," I sobbed, feeling like an idiot. Who can't open a window?

Ranger took a step back so he could lock his eyes with mine. "Someone nailed it shut." Even in the darkness, I could see the dangerous glint in his eyes. When Ranger found out who had done it, it would not end well. I felt we both considered the same suspect: George Fortecelli.

"How'd you know I was still inside?"

"Hal heard the call go out on the scanner for a fire at your building. When I got here and I didn't see you with the other tenants out front, I started asking if anyone had seen you. One of them told me the fire was in front of your apartment door. I got a bad feeling when I saw your window still closed and your phone went straight to voicemail."

"Thank you," I muttered, leaning against him again as I shivered. Ranger felt nice and warm. And I was freezing. In addition to shoes, it never occurred to me to put on any additional clothes than what I'd been sleeping in. Stretchy cotton shorts and a threadbare t-shirt were not the best attire for January in Jersey.

Ranger pulled off his black jacket and slung it over my shoulders. "Let's get you somewhere warm."

I nodded in agreement. Ranger tucked Rex under his left arm and guided me into the sea of emergency vehicles.

"What's wrong with your hand?" he asked as we walked, noticing that I held it cradled against my body.

"I didn't know the fire was right outside my door. I touched the doorknob to get out and burned my hand."

Ranger furrowed his brow and stopped. "Let me see." He pulled out his flashlight again and clicked it on. I opened my right palm and swayed where I stood. The palm and fingers of my hand were covered in blistering burns.

Ranger steadied me. "Babe, the EMT's need to look at that."

He steered me toward the flashing lights of a line of ambulances. The EMT's all stood next to open cargo doors, looking bored. A building full of elderly, yet no one required their assistance. That might be in part because three quarters of the residents came with their own oxygen supply.

We reached the first ambulance and I groaned internally. I recognized one of the EMT's. Bonnie had gone to school with my older sister, Valerie. She'd attended more than one sleep over at my house.

"Stephanie Plum, is that you?" she asked as I stepped into view of the bright LED lights emanating from inside the ambulance.

"Hi Bonnie," I replied. "I burned my hand. Can you bandage it?"

"Sure, come in and sit down on the gurney and let me have a look."

I climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat on the edge of the gurney. Ranger followed, settling onto the bench and putting Rex's aquarium next to him. I suppressed a shudder as I flashbacked to the last time I was in an ambulance, watching Ranger fight for his life.

"I'm sorry," Bonnie said. "I guess you're not a Plum anymore, are you?"

I snapped back to reality. "What?"

Bonnie motioned to my wedding rings.

"No, I'm still a Plum," I started to explain, but Bonnie cut me off.

"Ahh, keeping your maiden name? That's getting really popular, isn't it?" Her voice lowered, "Is that your hubby?" She nodded toward Ranger and I saw her eyes flit over his body in an admiring way.

I had the word 'no' on the tip of my tongue, but hesitated. Valerie had always been the perfect daughter. And Bonnie didn't fall too far behind Valerie in the perfect category when I was growing up. I, on the other hand, always stood just a bit slightly off center from "normal." Valerie and Bonnie had once offered to help "fix" me.

"Got myself a good one, didn't I?" I replied instead.

"You're telling me," Bonnie whispered as she examined my burnt hand. "Is he as good in bed as I imagine he would be?"

"Better." At least that wasn't a lie.

I heard Ranger shift his position behind me and knew he'd heard every word.

Bonnie smeared my palm with a mixture of aloe-vera gel and a topical pain reliever, then she wrapped my entire hand in several layers of gauze and secured it with three pieces of medical tape.

"All fixed up," Bonnie announced. "You're lucky it was your right hand. I might have had to cut off your pretty wedding rings if you'd burned your left hand."

"Yeah, lucky me," I agreed dryly. From behind me, I heard a strangled cough that seemed suspiciously like a stifled laugh.

Bonnie looked at Ranger. "You'll need to help her change the bandage a couple times a day and apply more aloe and Lidocaine as needed."

"Can do," he responded.

Bonnie helped me to my feet. "It looks like the Red Cross is here. They can probably hook you up with a blanket and some shoes."

The Red Cross doled out stuff from a large white van with, no surprise, a big red cross on the side. I got some socks and shoes, along with a scratchy blue blanket to wrap around my shoulders. A fireman asked for my name and apartment number. He sighed as he checked my name off a list.

"Did everyone get out?" I asked, trying to peek at his list.

"You were the last person unaccounted for, so yes."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd grown used to people trying to kill me. But I didn't want my screwed up life to hurt anyone else.

The Red Cross had set up a bunch of plastic folding chairs underneath a tent with a couple patio heaters running to try and keep the displaced tenants warm. Pushing a flap aside, I entered the tent and looked down at my bare feet, then at the shoes and socks I cradled in my left hand. There was no way I was going to be able to put them on myself.

"This is mortifying, but I think you're going to have to help me put on my socks and shoes," I said to Ranger.

"Have a seat, Cinderella," he replied, his lips curling into a smile. "Good thing you got yourself a good one."

I felt myself flush as I sat down. "I couldn't help myself. The EMT was Bonnie Kline. She and Valerie were good friends growing up, and they were constantly trying to show me how I should act so I could grow up to be a good Burg wife. I guess I just wanted to show her up."

"Show her up?"

"She married Steven Kline, who's five foot six in shoes, a bit pudgy, and prematurely balding. And she undressed you with her eyes."

"She did not."

"She did. Granted, every woman who meets you imagines you naked, so I really shouldn't hold it against her."

My feet were now shod, thanks to Ranger. His cell phone rang as he stood.

He looked at the number for a few beats before deciding to answer. He gave no greeting, just held the phone to his ear.

"Yes." He responded to an unheard question. "We're in the Red Cross warming tent." He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Morelli," Ranger replied.

"Why'd he call you?"

"Because your building is on fire and you weren't answering your phone."

"I forgot to plug it in and the battery died," I explained, feeling like a total idiot.

Morelli arrived in the tent a few minutes later. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair appeared tousled from sleep, and he wore creased jeans and a wrinkled hoodie that had probably been on his bedroom floor not too long ago. He made disheveled look sexy.

"What happened?" he demanded as soon as he saw me.

I shrugged. "There was a fire."

Morelli shot me a disbelieving look. "Just a regular, ordinary, run of the mill fire?"

"No one shot a rocket into my apartment, if that's what you are asking. The fire started outside my apartment."

"By accident?"

I glanced at Ranger and saw him fighting back a smile. "Just tell him," Ranger advised.

"Tell me what?" Morelli asked uneasily. "It's going to give me heartburn, isn't it?"

"The fire started right outside my apartment door," I confessed. "And when I tried to leave by the fire escape, my window had been nailed shut from the outside."

"Christ! How did you get out?"

I nodded toward Ranger.

"I climbed her fire escape and shot out her window."

Morelli said nothing, but he and Ranger exchanged a look. Morelli offered Ranger the tiniest nod of gratitude.

"Why didn't you just call 9-1-1?" Morelli asked me.

"It's dead," I pointed at the phone that still sat in Rex's cage. "I forgot to plug it in."

"And your hand?" Morelli asked.

"I didn't know the fire was in my hall, so when I tried to open the door I burned my hand on the door knob."

"Do you know who started the fire."

I paused for a second before responding. "I have a pretty good guess. George Fortecelli skipped bail just after Christmas on an arson charge. And I may have stumbled upon something he doesn't want public."

Morelli pressed the heel of his palm into his chest. "I have heartburn already. What did you stumble on?"

"He's got thirty acres of woods in the Poconos hiding a massive marijuana growing rig. Three giant greenhouses."

Morelli shook his head in disbelief. "Have you told this to the police?"

"Aren't you the police?"

Morelli pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stay here. I imagine the fire marshal's already been called. I'll go find him."

Morelli disappeared and Ranger took a seat next to me. "Giving Fortecelli over to the cops?"

I nodded. "I don't care if Vinnie loses the bond money. Fortecelli put a whole building full of people in danger to just try to get to me. I wasn't going to say anything about the pot, but now I hope he gets nailed by the DEA."

"Me too. I'd hate to run into him first."

"You're supposed to be resting," I reminded him.

"I know. Which is why I'll give the cops two weeks to find him first." Ranger's eyes grew dangerously dark.

If I were George Fortecelli, I'd gladly hand myself over to the justice system.

Morelli returned with the fire marshal and two on-duty cops so I could tell them what I knew. It wasn't much. I gave them the slip of paper with the sticker on it that had been slid under my door. I hoped they had a better time finding Fortecelli than I'd had.

The fire marshal left and Morelli gave me a soft look. "I have to go," he said. "There was another shooting on Stark Street and one of my informants might have been involved."

"Go," I said. "I'm fine. Really."

A little after four-thirty, Dillon Ruddick, our building super, appeared in the warming tent followed by several Red Cross workers. He looked grim.

"I'm afraid there's been considerable damage, especially to the second floor. No one is going to be able to move back in for at least a week, maybe longer. The Red Cross can assist with finding you alternative living arrangements for the time being."

All the tenants began speaking at once, some demanding to be let back in for medications or valuables, others listing everything they'd lost and demanded replaced. It was chaos. Dillon slunk away, leaving the Red Cross workers to sort out the mess.

Ranger picked up Rex's aquarium. "You're staying with me," he said decisively.

I shook my head. "I can stay with my parents."

"Fortecelli is still out there."

I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was get my parents' house burned down. I felt bad enough knowing it was partially my fault the rest of my building's residents were temporarily homeless. "It's probably safer staying with you," I agreed. Safer from lunatic fire bugs, at least.


	19. NINETEEN

NINETEEN

Ranger led me to his Porsche 911 Turbo, which he'd parked in the far reaches of my lot. I looked back at my building. Smoke still drifted lazily out the windows as the fire crew switched to clean up mode.

"I should probably call my mother so she doesn't worry," I said as I slipped into the passenger seat. Ranger handed me Rex's aquarium and his cell phone. I dialed my parents' number and waited for someone to answer.

"Hello?" My mother's voice sounded heavy from sleep.

"Mom, it's Stephanie."

"Oh my god, what's happened?"

"I wanted to let you know there was a small fire in my building this morning."

My mother went dead silent for a tick. "Someone shot a rocket into your apartment again, didn't they!"

Someone shoots one little rocket into your apartment just once and you never live it down. Jeez. "No, Mom. No rocket. Just a little fire in the hallway. It didn't even start in my apartment. But I'm fine. I got Rex out, too. My cell phone's battery is dead, but I should be able to get it charged in a little bit. Okay?"

"So, I take it to mean you are out of your apartment for a while? Are you staying with Joseph?"

"No, I'm staying at Ranger's place."

Dead silence again.

I decided it was best to end the call before an argument could start. "Anyway, just wanted you to know I'm safe and not to worry. Love you. Bye." I handed Ranger his phone back.

Ranger pulled out of my lot and surprised me when he pulled into a Dunkin Donuts a short time later and ordered two large coffees and half a dozen donuts from the drive through.

"Donuts?" I asked as he pulled up to the drive through window.

"Are you complaining?"

"No. I never complain about donuts." Ranger passed me the box and I balanced it on top of Rex's cage and ate a French cruller then and there. "Donuts make everything better."

We parked at Rangeman and Ranger took Rex and the donuts under one arm, holding his coffee with the other. I carried my coffee in my left hand and followed him into the elevator. I got Rex settled into his temporary home on top of Ranger's kitchen counter and I helped myself to another donut. To my utter shock, Ranger selected a plain glazed one and took a bite.

"You're staring at me," he said. "And not in the good, I want to tear all your clothes off, way."

"You're eating a donut," I whispered.

"I'm aware."

"I've never seen you eat a donut."

Ranger rolled his eyes. "Now you have."

"And last night you ate a bacon cheeseburger, onion rings, and half a piece of lemon meringue pie."

"And?"

I fidgeted. "I gave you my blood."

Ranger paused half way through his donut, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Are you seriously suggesting that your blood might cause me to crave junk food?"

"Maybe. For all we know, I could have some undiscovered blood disease that causes me to need foods high in saturated fat."

"Babe, the only disease you have is called lack of self control."

I finished off my donut and took a sip of coffee. It was after five now, so there was no point in going back to bed. Might as well get a highly caffeinated start to the day. Not that I knew what to do with it. I looked at my bandaged right hand. "This is going to put a serious dent in my bounty hunting abilities for the next few days."

Ranger nodded. "Hard to cuff a skip with just one hand."

"I have a hard time with two hands."

Ranger's mouth curved into an amused smile. "Since you're not going to be able to catch any skips for a bit, you want to come with me to Miami this weekend?"

"Miami?"

"I have some Rangeman business to attend to Saturday morning and my cousin is getting married Saturday afternoon. You could be my plus one."

"What about these?" I wriggled my left hand so that the wedding rings caught the light.

Ranger shrugged. "They don't bother me. Just don't tell anyone they're from Walmart."

"I mean, what will we tell your family? They might be a bit curious about why your date is wearing wedding bands."

"Some of my family wouldn't be surprised if I showed up with a married woman on my arm," he replied and I couldn't tell if he was serious or joking.

"It's going to be awkward."

"It's going to be eighty and sunny all weekend. And the wedding is on the beach."

Oh, the beach! "When do we leave?"

Ranger smiled. "We fly out Friday night."

"Friday? That's tomorrow!" The full extent of everything I'd lost finally set in. I sighed. "Everything was in my apartment. My clothes. My laptop. My purse, wallet, I.D. And you want me to fly to Miami tomorrow night? This sucks."

"It could suck more," Ranger said softly, pulling me into him. I leaned my head against his chest and silently agreed. Neither one of us wanted to think about what could have happened if Ranger hadn't arrived when he did. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you need a shower," he added.

I sniffed at my hair and grimaced. I reeked of smoke. I pulled away from Ranger and looked at my bandaged hand. "This will be interesting."

"I can help," Ranger offered.

"I don't think so. I fell for that once already."

Ranger grinned at me. "I'm actually offering real help."

I gave him a skeptical look.

Ranger sighed. "Babe, climbing your fire escape was all the physical exertion I'm up for today."

"Omigod, you hurt yourself rescuing me, didn't you?"

"I'm fine. Just sore."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Ranger didn't turn down sex for no reason. "I'd appreciate your help, and then you are going to lay on the sofa and rest."

Ranger dug around in a kitchen cabinet and came back with a plastic, gallon sized Ziplock bag and a rubber band. He put the bag over my bandaged hand and used the rubber band to secure it to my wrist.

"Why do I feel like you've done this before?"

"Because I have," he replied with no further explanation, leading me to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and while the water heated up, he stripped off my clothes.

"I think you are enjoying this a bit too much," I remarked as his fingers trailed along my bare skin as he lifted my shirt over my head. Little tendrils of fire followed his path.

"I never said I wasn't going to enjoy it, Babe. And it looks like you are too."

I followed his gaze to my chest. My nipples were hard.

"I'm just cold," I lied as I stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut behind me. I stood under the hot water for a few minutes, enjoying the feel on my body. I used my left hand to uncap the bottle of shampoo and then just poured some straight onto my head. I returned the bottle to its shelf and used my left hand to massage the suds into my hair.

Next, I lathered up a loofa with a generous dollop of Bulgari shower gel. I could reach most of my body, except my back and my left arm, one handed.

"Can you wash my back?" I asked Ranger.

Ranger pulled the curtain aside, his eyes scanning my body for a few seconds before he motioned for me to turn around so he could scrub my back. He gently washed my left arm too, before handing the loofa back to me and closing the curtain.

I enjoyed the steamy shower for several more minutes before turning off the water. I grabbed a towel and dried off behind the curtain, then wrapped the damp towel around myself. I pulled the rubber band and plastic bag off my right hand, placing the rubber band in the bag and putting them both on a shelf near the back of the shower, to use later. Then I stepped out.

Ranger remained in the bathroom. He had his shirt off, carefully taping a square gauze bandage over the bullet wound on his left side. A blood-soaked bandage lay discarded in the trash can.

"You said you were just sore!"

"Relax, Babe. I just cracked open the scab. It's not bleeding anymore."

The bandage on his back, where the bullet had exited his body, had blood on it too. "You need help with the one on your back? It needs changing too."

"It's not pretty. You won't faint or anything, right?"

"I knelt in a pool of your blood, watching you die. This is just a little blood. I can handle a little." At least, I felt fairly confident I could handle a little blood.

Ranger handed me a thick gauze square covered in antibiotic cream with an expression I couldn't place. He ripped off several pieces of body tape and hung them off the edge of the sink. I carefully peeled the old bandage off, trying not to gasp at the crusty wound underneath. I gently placed the fresh gauze square on his back, held it there with the back of my bandaged right hand, and used my left to tape off each side. My left hand's dexterity already seemed to be improving.

"All done," I announced, more for myself than for Ranger. I deserved another donut for not fainting.

Ranger turned to face me, pulling me close and kissing me gently. One hand gently cradled the nape of my neck, the other held my waist firmly. Our tongues touched and I moaned. Ranger pulled away.

"I'm taking a rain check on this," he told me.

"It's not raining."

"The shower was close enough."

Oh boy. Something to look forward to. I tried not to think about what would happen if I was still living here when Ranger recovered enough to call in the rain check.

I went into his closet and found clothes. I hesitated to call them my clothes, because they'd never been mine. I hadn't purchased them and they'd never been in my closet. Everything that lived here was purchased by Ella, and embroidered with Rangeman, even the underwear. And it was all black. I pulled on a pair of black cotton undies and bra, then a pair of black jeans and black t-shirt. I borrowed one of Ranger's black hoodies, rolling up the sleeves so it fit.

I emerged back into the bathroom. "Any chance you still have that pink toothbrush I used Saturday night?"

Ranger opened the door to the cabinet under the sink, revealing a brown wicker basket loaded with women's toiletries. "With your track record, it seemed a safe bet that at some point you'd be here with nothing more than the clothes on your back. So I had Ella pick some things up to keep here for you."

"You're the best." I pulled out the basket and found it full of the necessities: hair brush, comb, blow dryer, elastic bands, hair spray and gel, mascara, lipstick, chap stick, emery boards, deodorant, floss, toothpaste, toothbrush, and a box of tampons.

I emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later feeling more human. I'd blown dry my hair and brushed it, but had no choice but to let it fall loose, as there was no way for me to put it into a pony tail with only one hand. I'd managed to brush my teeth and put on deodorant left handed, but skipped the makeup. I figured I'd just end up poking out an eye attempting to apply mascara with my non-dominant hand.

Ranger had settled on the couch, feet outstretched and laptop open on his lap, checking e-mails. Plugging my cell phone in to charge nearby, I sunk into the matching armchair and flipped on the TV.

A little after eleven that morning, my now fully charged cell rang. I saw Morelli's number on the screen.

"Hello."

"Hello. Just thought you'd like to know that the fire department is done with your building. The fire marshal took one look at the second floor and declared it arson. Classic signs of accelerant being used all over your door and surrounding walls. Disaster cleanup crews are already there to mop up and they're letting residents in to collect valuables."

"Is there anything left from my apartment to collect?"

Morelli fell silent for a few seconds and I knew that didn't bode well. "I think your bedroom remained more or less untouched by the flames." His tone didn't inspire confidence.

"What about the bathroom?" I asked, fingers crossed. I hated the out of date bathroom, but like the Buick, it seemed impervious to damage.

"It needs a new door."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. It's like there's a force field or something around it. It's actually a little creepy."

"I'll be right over." I hung up.

Ranger was already standing. He went to the kitchen and pulled a box of black garbage bags out from the cabinet under the sink and handed them to me. "What we think you can salvage we'll pack in these and bring them back here."

We climbed into one of the Rangeman SUV's and drove the short distance to my apartment building. The fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances were all gone. The Red Cross van remained in the lot, but their tent had disappeared. A line of neon green SERVPRO vans parked by the back entrance. Several people, in identical neon green polo shirts, went in and out carrying wet vacs and huge box fans. Morelli stood waiting off to the side. Dillon Ruddick, my building's super, stood next to him.

Morelli and Ranger barely acknowledged the existence of the other. They were very capable of working civilly together on matters of business. When it came to matters of me, it was a different story.

"Sorry about your apartment," Dillon said to me. "As soon as I heard the alarm this morning, I grabbed the extinguisher and ran upstairs, figuring it was your place again. But the whole wall was already in flames, and it was all I could do to keep the stairs clear until everyone got out."

"I'm just happy no one else got hurt," I told him.

I steeled myself and followed Morelli into the building. Water dripped through the first-floor ceiling and the carpet squished with each step we took. The air still smelled strongly of smoke. We followed an extra-long extension cord and the sound of a wet-vac to the second floor. I stopped dead in my tracks.

A charred set of wooden studs were all that remained of the wall between my kitchen and the hallway, giving me a clear look into my destroyed kitchen. The cabinets were blackened, appliances nothing more than melted globs of skeletal metal. My door lay flat on the floor, leaving just a blackened doorframe.

I swayed and suddenly two different men grabbed me. Morelli's arm snaked around my shoulders, while Ranger placed a calming hand against the small of my back. I looked up in time to see each man glare daggers at the other. If it weren't for the stench of smoke in the air, I probably could have smelled the testosterone.

"The insurance adjuster will be here tomorrow," Dillon told me, drawing my attention back to him. Neither Morelli nor Ranger broke contact with me. "Then we can start putting the pieces back together. It might not be until mid February before you can move back in, though."

I felt a hot flash at the thought of spending a month in Ranger's apartment. Chances were good he'd recover fully from the gunshot wounds well before mid-February. As soon as they caught Fortecelli, I would move in with my parents.

"You'll need to clear out anything you want to save," Dillon added. "The entire place will need to be re-carpeted and repainted." He checked his watch. "I gotta go back downstairs. Mrs. Whidecker should be here any moment and she needs assistance getting things out of her place."

I gasped as Dillon walked away.

"What?" Morelli and Ranger asked simultaneously.

"I just remembered. Yesterday, Mrs. Whidecker cornered me in the lobby, asking if I had work done on my apartment. She heard hammering in the morning. That must have been when my window got nailed shut."

"I'll pass it along to Marsh," Morelli replied. "He can talk to the other residents. Maybe someone saw the guy."


	20. TWENTY

TWENTY

Carefully, I stepped over my former front door. I wrote the kitchen off as a total loss, clearly unsalvageable. I made my way to my conjoined dining room and living room. The legs of the dining room table and chairs were charred, the carpet burnt away to reveal blackened floor boards. Nothing more remained of the sofa than a hunk of warped metal springs, and the television had melted. Where carpet remained, water puddled atop it. Black waves crept along the ceiling. Besides a burnt door, the bathroom looked exactly as I left it. My bedroom had moderate damage, mostly from smoke and water. The carpet squished under my feet. Glass still littered the floor from the window Ranger shot out.

"What's the plan?" Ranger asked.

"Grab my clothes, I guess. The smoke smell should wash out."

Truth was, I didn't have a whole lot of valuables to collect. I had a couple pieces of jewelry and my laptop, all of which happened to be in the bedroom. The old family photos all lived at my mother's house and everything more recent was digital and saved to the cloud. My messenger bag, only through dumb luck, had been in the bedroom and not in its usual spot on the kitchen counter, so at least my I.D., wallet, and birth control pills hadn't burned up. Not that my wallet contained anything of value either.

Ranger carried a bag of clothes down to his SUV while I continued to stuff more clothes and shoes into another trash bag. As soon as Ranger left, Morelli crouched down next to me.

"You don't have to stay with him, you know," he said.

"It's better than staying with my parents. At least Ranger has 24/7 security in case Fortecelli tries to strike at me again."

"You could stay with me."

I held up my left hand. "Thought the rings didn't do it for you?" Plus, I'd feel just as bad if I got Morelli's house burned down as I would if it were my parents' house.

"I think I just had to get over my shock." He put a hand behind my neck and pulled me close for a kiss.

"Anything?" I asked as he pulled away. I could already see the 'no' in his annoyed expression.

"They're just rings," he said, I think to himself. Then he kissed me again, this time with tongue.

Someone in the room cleared his throat. Morelli pulled away from me with a low growl. He grabbed a bag of shoes and carried it out of the room, ignoring Ranger.

"Don't look so smug," I scolded Ranger as I stood up. His face wore an amused half smile.

"I never pegged Morelli to be the kind of guy who balked at a woman with rings."

To be honest, neither had I. The Morelli men were infamous womanizers. A married woman simply presented a challenge, and I wasn't even really married. At one time in my life, I would have lumped Joe in with the rest of the Morelli men, but somewhere along the way he'd grown out of it.

"Maybe this is why he can't pull the trigger with you. Marriage turns him off," Ranger continued.

"I'm pretty sure it's only a problem because they're your rings."

"Technically, Tank picked them out."

"I'm sure that will fix it for Morelli," I replied sarcastically. "And don't put him down. There is something to be said for the morals of a man who respects a married woman."

"Are you insinuating I wouldn't keep my distance from a married woman?"

I shrugged. "You seem to think it wouldn't shock your family. Would you keep your distance, if the tables were turned and these were Morelli's rings?"

Ranger gave me a serious look. "You'd be off limits."

"Really?"

Ranger stepped closer to me and locked his gaze with mine. "Really. It's something you should consider if he ever pops the question."

I pulled my eyes away from his, unsure of how to respond. Instead, I scanned the dresses hanging in my closet. I would need something for Ranger's cousin's wedding. I selected a practical black dress, with cap sleeves, a modest neck line and hem that hit just past my knees.

"It's a wedding on a beach," Ranger quipped. "Not a funeral."

"You have a better suggestion," I grumbled, regretting it at once.

Ranger's eyes darted across my closet. He reached out and retrieved a silky cream dress with a navy-blue lace overlay. It had tiny spaghetti straps, a plunging v-cut neckline and a slightly flared skirt that just barely covered my ass. I'd clearly been feeling over-confident when I'd bought it.

"No."

"I took a bullet for you," he fired back, voice light.

"And I made sure you didn't bleed to death," I returned, pointing for him to return the dress to the rack.

"I'm buying your plane ticket."

I sighed. He had a valid point there. "We'll need to drop it at the dry cleaners."

Ranger grinned triumphantly and slung the dress over his arm.

Morelli returned and he and Ranger took a few more bags of clothes, shoes, bedding and toiletries out to the car. I would need to arrange for a storage locker and find a pickup truck to get the bedroom furniture out.

I stood in my soggy living room and looked around at the devastation while Morelli carried down the last bag.

"You okay?" Ranger asked softly.

"I shouldn't be, but I am. At some point, all this madness just got normalized."

I walked into the kitchen and found my blackened cookie jar. It had cracked in multiple places, caving in on itself. I picked away broken pieces of pottery and the charred remains of my bag of Chips Ahoy and found my .45 revolver. The barrel had melted to the side of the jar.

"For once, it was good you had no bullets," Ranger remarked, looking over my shoulder.

I sighed. "You bought me this gun. And you made sure I knew how to use it."

"Feeling sentimental?"

"A little."

Ranger put his hands on my waist from behind and kissed me behind my ear. "I'll buy you a new one, just like it. And a new cookie jar, too."

Without another look back, we left my barbequed abode. My burnt hand began to throb and my eyes stung from the smoky air. My stomach grumbled about lunch, or the lack thereof.

Outside, Morelli waited by his POS unmarked cop car. "Give me a sec," I said to Ranger as I walked over to Morelli.

"Thanks for helping," I told him. "You didn't need to."

"Yes, I did," he replied, grabbing my hips and pulling me close. "You and I have some stuff we need to work out, but I'm willing to let it wait. I don't like your current living situation, but even I admit it's probably the safest place you could be right now, short of a safe house. The DEA is raiding Fortecelli's property as we speak, so if you think he was pissed before, it's about to get worse."

"Great. You don't suppose he'll try to do anything to my parents, do you?"

"He tried to burn you alive in your own apartment. Who's to say what a lunatic like that will do? I've already requested extra eyes on your parent's place. But you might just want to lay low for now."

"Ranger had the same idea. He's taking me to Miami tomorrow. His cousin is getting married and he thought it best for me to get out of Trenton until the dust settles."

Morelli's brow furrowed. "I really want to hate that idea, but I can't." His cell phone buzzed and he looked at a new text message.

"More bodies on Stark Street?"

"Something like that. Just be careful, okay. We will talk when you get back." He locked his eyes with mine, tipped my chin up, and kissed me gently.

I walked back to Ranger.

"You tell him about Miami?"

"Yes, he doesn't like it, but even he admits it's probably best that I get out of dodge. The DEA is raiding Fortecelli's property right now." My stomach growled loudly as I finished talking.

Ranger grinned at me. "Hungry?"

"Starving. And my hand hurts."

"We'll stop at Walgreens and get what we need for your hand. There is a drycleaner across the street. Then lunch."

We parked in the Walgreen's lot and Ranger went into guard mode. He insisted I get out of the SUV, lest Fortecelli tried to torch it with me inside. We bought a bunch of bandages, a large bottle of aloe vera gel, and the strongest lidocaine cream on the shelf. Next, we dropped my lacy dress off at the dry cleaners. Then he drove us to a shady looking Thai restaurant only half a block from Stark Street.

"Why is it that every time you take me to a restaurant, it's a hole-in-the-wall kind of place?"

"Because those are always the best places."

"So this is good Thai?"

"It's amazing Thai."

I looked around the neighborhood. It wasn't the place I'd want to find myself after dark. "It looks sketchy."

Ranger grinned. "It's fine, Babe."

I angled out of the car. "So, I suppose you'd have no problem with me grabbing take out from here on my way home alone some night?"

"Not a chance in hell. But when you're with me, it's fine."

The restaurant had no seating, just a takeout counter. The walls were plastered with a hideous maroon wallpaper covered in elephants. There were elephants everywhere: printed on the menu, figurines on wall shelves, even an elephant end table holding a half dead ficus. Ranger ordered chicken sautéed with spinach leaves in a peanut sauce. I got chicken pad thai, with a side of fried taro root served with peanut sauce, and a deep-fried banana covered in honey for dessert.

By the time we walked into Ranger's apartment, drool practically cascaded down my chin from the smell of the Thai food.

"Forget the stuff in the SUV and my hand. Let's eat!" I exclaimed.

As I scraped the last tasty tidbit from my takeout container, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw my mother's number.

"Hi Mom."

"Stephanie! Did you tell Bonnie Kline you were married to Ranger?"

I pulled the phone away from my ear, fearing my mother's shouting might prove detrimental to my hearing. "I might have made a joke that may have made her think I'm married to Ranger," I replied into the receiver. Even holding the phone an arm's length away, I could hear her reply without any trouble.

"So, you think marriage is a joking matter?"

I sighed. "No, Mom."

"Then why in the world are you telling people you are married, when I've just spent the last week telling people you aren't married?"

"I'm not telling people. I said one thing to Bonnie Kline, and she sort of just assumed the rest." Okay, I may have helped a little with her assumptions, but still. It was just one person.

"Well Bonnie's telling people, and they're calling me! What am I supposed to do, Stephanie?"

"Unplug your phone?"

"If you ever want pineapple upside-down cake again, you will fix this."

That was not an idle threat. I squirmed in my chair, sweat forming on my forehead. I didn't want to face a future without pineapple upside-down cake.

"Do you have Bonnie's number?" I finally squeaked.

She did, of course. But I had nothing to write on or with. And with my right hand bandaged, I couldn't physically write anyway.

"Wait, wait, I need to find a pen and paper."

Ranger retrieved a pen and sticky note and stood by, ready to write down Bonnie's number for me.

"Okay, I'm going to put you on speaker," I told my mother, "so Ranger can write the number down for me."

"Why can't you write it down?" my mother asked as I changed the phone to speaker mode.

I squirmed some more. "Did I forget to tell you?" I asked innocently. "I burned my right hand this morning."

"You told me the fire started outside your apartment." My mother's voice sounded tense.

"Technically, it did. It started in my hallway, near the door. I burned my hand on the doorknob when I tried to open the door. That's how I bumped into Bonnie. She's an EMT."

My mother gave an exasperated sigh. "Everyone knows you're supposed to feel the face of the door for heat before touching the doorknob during a fire."

I did recall something about that from second grade fire safety class. Of course, things were a bit different at three in the morning, when you're half awake and think someone's just burned popcorn again.

"Okay, what's Bonnie's number?"

My mother recited Bonnie's number and Ranger copied it down. "Call her, now! And I'll know if you don't!" And my mother hung up.

Ranger looked like he was holding back laughter. I kicked him softly in the leg. "This is serious. Pineapple upside-down cake is at stake."

Still in speaker phone mode, I dialed Bonnie's number. It rang six times then went to voicemail. I left the lamest message in the history of voicemails. "Hi Bonnie, it's Stephanie Plum. I think there was a misunderstanding this morning. I'm not actually married. I was tired and in pain and just really confused from breathing all that smoke. So, if you could please stop telling people I'm married, my mom would really appreciate it. Thanks so much. Bye."

By the time I hung up, Ranger had walked into another room so the recording didn't catch his laughter.

I called my mother back. "Bonnie didn't answer, but I left her a voicemail telling her I'm not married."

My mother stayed silent for a few seconds, contemplating if I'd earned back pineapple upside-down cake privileges. I could see her perfectly in my mind's eye, an expression I'd memorized during my formative years. "Well, that's fixed then. Will you be over for dinner Saturday night? I'll make you pineapple upside-down cake."

It didn't escape my notice that she hadn't invited Ranger. "I can't," I breathed. "I won't be in town. I leave for Miami tomorrow. Ranger's cousin is getting married and I'm his plus one."

My mother went silent for a beat. "You're going to Miami? Stephanie, do you realize what people will say?"

"Have fun? Enjoy the sun? Lucky you?"

"Everyone will think you are honeymooning!"

In the background, I heard Grandma Mazur exclaim, "Stephanie's going on a honeymoon! How nice."

"Stephanie isn't going on a honeymoon." My mother's voice sounded muffled, her hand likely over the receiver.

Suddenly, a lot of unintelligible noise came from my mother's end before my grandmother's voice came over the line. "Where you going on your honeymoon?" she asked, having evidently wrestled the phone away from my mother.

"Miami, but it's not a honeymoon. I'm not married, remember."

"You still got those rings on?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's a honeymoon. Tell everyone it's a honeymoon. They'll give you free stuff."

I heard my mother huff in the background. "They will not. Stephanie, don't tell anyone it's your honeymoon," she shouted.

"I hear Miami is real nice," Grandma continued. "I bet there will be lots of sexy men walking around in those skimpy swimsuits. I bet you Ranger has one of those speedos. Boy, I'd love to see him in one of those, I bet he fills out one of those banana hammocks real nice."

My phone suddenly levitated out of my hand, as Ranger grabbed it and ended the call. "Your family terrifies me."

I grinned at him. "My Dad is pretty normal."

"Your grandmother more than makes up for that."

It took several trips to retrieve all the garbage bags full of my smoky clothes from Ranger's SUV. Ranger's housekeeper, Ella, stood waiting for us as we brought up the last bags.

"You can't wash all this for me," I protested.

"Of course I can," she replied. "You just had a fire. It's the least I can do. I'll wash your warm weather things first, so you're all ready for the weekend."

"Thank you so much!" And I launched myself into her for a grateful hug. Ella patted my back awkwardly. While Ranger showed his employees great respect, he certainly never hugged them.

Once I released her, Ella grabbed a bag in each hand and carted them back to the elevator. Ranger steered me into his apartment.

"You need to let me change the bandages on your hand," he said, pushing me into a dining room chair. He dumped the Walgreens bag onto the table and got everything ready before gently taking my hand.

"How bad does it look?" I asked, my eyes squeezed shut. My hand throbbed something fierce now that Ranger had taken the bandages off.

"Not too bad. You've got some blisters, but mostly just mild burns."

I cracked one eyelid open. The palm of my right hand shone a brilliant shade of cherry red. A large white blister had formed on my palm, just below where my middle and ring fingers joined my hand. Smaller blisters appeared on the tips of all my fingers. I groaned and returned my eyelids to the closed position.

I yelped as something cold touched my skin.

"I'm putting more of the Lidocaine cream on," Ranger explained. "I'm trying to be as gentle as possible, I promise."

"I was more surprised than hurt," I admitted.

"Might be less surprising with your eyes open."

I opened my eyes and watched Ranger finish treating my burns. I'd seen Ranger throw grown men across rooms, out windows, and once off the edge of a parking garage. Yet other times, like now, his touch felt incredibly gentle. He wrapped my palm and fingers, then wrapped my thumb separately, so at least I could perform a pinching action now. The Lidocaine and aloe creams were already working their magic, the pain fading away to pleasant numbness.

I spent the rest of the afternoon making phone calls, renting a storage unit and a U-Haul. Ranger assigned two lucky Merry Men to pick up the U-Haul, clean the furniture out of my apartment, and take it to the storage unit.


	21. TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-ONE

The alarm on Ranger's cell phone woke me Friday morning.

"Normal people don't get up this early," I grumbled as he slid away from me. The bed felt instantly colder.

Ranger had nearly a full day of work-from-home planned. Ranger possessed work ethic. I possessed an achy burnt hand and a few more hours remaining on my internal sleep clock.

I finally swung my legs out of bed around eight. I managed a half-assed shower, blew dry my hair and ran a brush through it. The impossibility of putting hair into a ponytail one handed became painfully obvious, so I let it fall to my shoulders in curly waves. I put some lipstick on, but still didn't feel I could handle mascara left handed. I slipped on a freshly laundered pair of well-worn blue jeans and stretchy black t-shirt, then padded into the kitchen.

Ranger had an assortment of fruit available. I grabbed a left-over donut from the day before and poured myself a large cup of coffee, mixing in milk and sugar. Ranger reclined on his sofa, laptop open and a blue tooth earpiece in. I could hear him talking to Tank through it. It sounded like Tank had found a promising female candidate to replace my role in Rangeman.

I finished my doughnut and coffee while standing in the kitchen, giving Ranger privacy to finish his call. I dropped a little piece of doughnut into Rex's cage, along with a carrot stick from the refrigerator. Rex rushed out of his soup can and gobbled up the doughnut. He ignored the carrot stick. That's my boy.

Ranger met me half way between the kitchen and the living room.

"Good morning," he said, putting his hands on my waist and kissing me softly. "Any big plans for the day?"

"I need to run a few errands," I replied. "I can go myself, if you let me borrow a car."

Ranger gave me a long look.

"I'll be fine," I insisted. "I just need to pick up my dress from the dry cleaners and stop to get a wax and pedicure at the salon in the Quaker Bridge mall. You don't need to assign me a babysitter."

I could see him weighing the pros and cons of having to devote one of his guys to watching my back for the next few hours.

"Look, in the grand scheme of people who've tried to kill me, this isn't all that serious. I haven't even gotten any death threats this time."

Ranger shook his head. "There was nothing comforting about that sentence, you do realize that, right? Someone nailed your window shut and set your apartment on fire. That's a little more serious than a phone call or note."

A half hour later, I had a fresh bandage on my hand, my purse riding shotgun in a black Chevy Equinox, and a relatively recent Rangeman hire named Scott trailing me through Trenton traffic. Scott looked like the stereotypical all American boy, who also happened to use steroids. He stood an easy six foot, with blond cropped hair, blue eyes, and muscles out the wazoo.

I stopped at the drycleaners and picked up my dress before heading to the mall. The drycleaner had big, clear plate glass windows facing the parking lot, so all Scott had to do was sit in his black Ford Explorer and watch me walk in, pay for my dress, and walk out. He'd have no such luck at the mall.

The mall's parking lot was half empty. Everyone's credit cards were still recovering from Christmas and most folks were at work at ten in the morning on a Friday, attempting to pay off Santa's gifts. I purposefully parked in the single open space between two long lines of cars, so Scott had to circle around and park all the way at the end of the next row.

I pushed through the mall's double doors and walked past two store fronts before Scott finally caught up to me, huffing and puffing slightly.

"Drew the short straw today, huh?" I said to him.

"I'm looking at it like an initiation ritual," Scott replied enthusiastically. "Low man on the totem pole, and all that."

So Scott equated guarding me to an initiation ritual? I smiled. Messing with Scott would be fun.

I made a bee line for Victoria's Secret, not because I needed anything, but because I knew for certain it was the one store that could make a man the most uncomfortable. I felt Scott linger as I crossed the threshold to a sea of multi-colored thongs and bras. The signs in the windows advertised their big semi-annual sale.

"Aren't you coming in?" I asked him.

"I'll just wait out here," he replied, gesturing to an empty wooden bench.

I shook my head. "You're new at this, so I'm going to help you out. You need to come in with me. All these stores have back rooms with emergency exits. What would Ranger do to you if you were waiting out here while someone dragged me out the back door?"

Scott paled slightly, but followed me into the store. I shopped around for close to fifteen minutes, digging panties and bras out of sale bins, and just generally wasting time. In a bin of clearance bathing suits, I discovered a nice bikini: black bottoms with a black top embellished with little rhinestones around the edges. A silky cover up also found its way into my bag.

The clerk rang up my order and placed everything in a big pink bag. I paid with the gift card Grandma Mazur gave me for Christmas, mentally noting to thank her and show her the bathing suit. She'd get a kick out of helping me buy something for my "honeymoon." And it would annoy my mother.

Scott followed me around the rest of the mall like a lost puppy. I arrived at the salon and turned to Scott. "You can wait out here for me," I indicated an empty bench between two fake plants. "And here, you can hold my bag." I shoved the vivid pink bag into his arms before flouncing into the salon.

Normally, I don't do the waxing thing. It's embarrassing and it hurts. But any attempts to shave with my left hand would likely look more like a suicide attempt than personal grooming. I got assigned to a perky little Asian woman, who looked to be my mother's age. She turned out to be a talker. There is nothing worse than having to engage in small talk while a stranger rips the hair off your crotch. After the waxing, I got a quick pedicure and a manicure on my left hand, for which they only charged me half price after hearing how I burned my right hand.

Scott still sat on the bench where I left him. He quickly offered me my Victoria's Secret bag back. We passed Auntie Anne's pretzels on the way to the exit.

"Are you hungry?" I asked him, my mouth watering from the aroma of freshly baked pretzels.

"No, thank you."

I bought a pretzel, but seeing as I only had one functional hand, I couldn't eat it and carry the Victoria's Secret bag at the same time. Okay, I probably could have hung it over the bandages on my right hand, but it was more fun to shove it back into Scott's hands. I ate the pretzel as we walked out.

Scott walked me to the SUV and eagerly handed me back my bag full of underwear. I gave him a smile. "Thanks. I'd say you passed the initiation." To be honest, he'd gotten off pretty easy, compared to some of my bodyguards in the past.

Scott's face perked up at this and he jogged back to his vehicle. I cranked the engine over on the Equinox and drove back to Rangeman, Scott tailing me the whole way.

I unlocked the door to Ranger's apartment and found him in the kitchen.

"Ella just dropped off lunch," he said.

I sniffed the air. Something smelled wonderful. I plopped the Victoria's Secret bag on the counter, slung my dress over the back of a chair, and went over to investigate. A steaming pot of chicken soup simmered on the stovetop, with half a loaf of what appeared to be freshly baked wheat bread on the counter.

"How did it go at the mall?" Ranger asked, eying the Victoria's Secret bag.

"No one tried to kidnap, rob, burn, or shoot me. So, all in all, very dull." I selected a thick slice of bread, covered it in butter and took a bite. I chewed, swallowed, then continued, "I don't know what you pay Scott, but you probably owe him a bonus or a raise."

Ranger's eyebrows rose. "What did you do to him? Am I going to have a letter of resignation in my e-mail?"

"If he resigns over a brief foray into Victoria's Secret I'm not sure he's Rangeman material."

"You didn't make him hold the bag, did you?"

I grinned innocently. "I told him he passed the Stephanie Plum initiation rite. You should probably give him his Greek letters, or whatever fraternities do after they've finished hazing new members."

Ranger shook his head, but he smiled.

We ate lunch, then began packing. Our flight left at five, and we'd need to be at Newark Liberty International Airport by three for all the pre-flight fun. I especially looked forward to all the extra security screenings a burnt and bandaged hand would surely warrant. While Ranger took the suitcases down to the car, I made sure Rex's water bottle was full.

"I'm going away for a few days, but Ella is going to come feed you every day," I told him as I dropped a few grapes into his cage. Rex gave me a brief look before stuffing every grape into his mouth and retreating into his soup can. That's why hamsters were so great.

Our flight landed at Miami International Airport a little after eight in the evening. We retrieved our bags and headed for the rental car counter. Ranger received a set of keys and we ventured outside. A wave of warm humid air hit me the moment we exited the airport doors. I could feel my hair frizzing instantly, but I didn't care. It felt so good to be out of the cold Jersey winter. Ranger led me past a string of economy sedans and family sized minivans to a row of sporty convertibles. The lights flashed on a black Ford Mustang convertible. Ranger hoisted the luggage into the tiny trunk and slid into the driver's seat. He pressed a button on the dash and the roof folded itself up, exposing us to the warm night air.

"Nice," I remarked as I buckled myself in, grinning at Ranger. He shot me a genuinely happy smile in return.

Ranger turned into the hotel parking lot at half past nine. A huge illuminated sign read Acqualine Resort and Spa, under which a waterfall cascaded into a small pool. The hotel sat on the edge of the beach, inside a towering skyscraper. Several liveried resort employees waited under a covered car park. One opened my door and offered me a gloved hand as I stepped out. Another retrieved our luggage as a valet accepted the rental car keys from Ranger.

Our room looked out toward the sea from the eighth floor. A massive king-sized bed, piled with satin pillows, dominated half the room. A sofa and curved arm chair circled a small, rectangular glass coffee table. A large, flat screen TV hung on the wall opposite the bed. At the far end of the room, a glass door with gauzy white curtains opened to a private balcony overlooking the ocean. The marble covered bathroom boasted matching his and her sinks, walk-in shower, and an oversized whirlpool bathtub.

A porter carried our luggage in and placed both suitcases by the foot of the bed. Ranger slipped him a twenty as he left.

"I like your cousin's taste in wedding venues," I quipped as I crossed the room and threw open the balcony door. A gentle sea breeze buffeted the curtains, carrying the sound of crashing waves and the tang of salty air. I stepped out onto the balcony and leaned on the railing. Below, a luxurious crystal blue pool shimmered, bathed in lights. Several people swam and enjoyed an adjoining hot tub. Beyond the pool, a manicured green lawn faded into darkness. The beach was barely visible. Every so often, I caught a quick glimpse of a white capped wave breaking in the moonlight.

I felt Ranger approach me from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist so that he was pressed against my back. He nuzzled the side of my face and kissed me gently behind my ear.

"I want to be inside you so badly," he whispered in my ear and lava shot through my body, heading south.

I could feel exactly how badly he wanted me, his erection pressing into my spine. I also caught the hesitation in his voice, the unsaid "but" that finished his thought. He wanted to be inside me, but he didn't feel strong enough yet. Heat and wetness pooled between my legs. I wanted him inside me as well.

I gently turned to face him, pulling his lips down to mine as I ran my hand through his hair.

He pulled away from the kiss. "Babe." His eyes shimmered apologetically.

I put my hands on his chest and forced him to take a few steps back. "I'm going to drive tonight," I said, forcing him back into the hotel room and closing the balcony door behind us.

His eyes grew wide and dark. I rarely took charge in the bedroom. I always played the part of a very happy passenger, letting the men in my life steer when it came to sex. It had nothing to do with being subordinate, I just liked letting them do most of the work while I reaped the rewards.

I pulled Ranger's shirt over his head and he returned the favor. With one hand, he unclasped my bra. I shrugged and it fell to the floor. He pulled me into him for a long kiss, tongue swirling against mine, coaxing forth a moan. His hands fondled both my breasts as I worked on unbuttoning his pants. It's wasn't easy to do one-handed.

After a few minutes, Ranger finally broke the kiss. With an amused half smile, he stepped in and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them and his boxers to the floor simultaneously. He did the same to my pants and panties.

I took a shaky breath and pushed Ranger gently onto the bed. He lay on his back, his eyes watching me intensely. Cripes, I hadn't felt this nervous since our first night together. It didn't help that the room light seemed blaringly bright. This would be easier in the dark, but it felt awkward to turn off the light now.

I climbed onto the bed and straddled Ranger, lowering myself gently onto him. He groaned and I stilled.

"You need to tell me if I hurt you."

"That was a good groan," he replied, pushing down on my hips with his hands, forcing himself deeper inside me.

"I'm serious," I warned.

"You could kill me right now and I wouldn't stop you." He tugged at my hips, trying to get me to raise them. I complied, sliding up a few inches then back down on him. His fingers dug into my waist. I repeated the motion, building a rhythm.

"Faster, Babe," he moaned after several minutes. I increased the tempo slightly. My body wanted to go faster still, but I tried to cling to control.

Ranger moved a hand up my back, leaving little trails of fire in his wake. He pushed against my neck, forcing me to bend so that he could kiss me roughly. It shifted the angle he entered me and I gasped. It felt good before, but this seemed exquisite.

His mouth moved from mine to my collar bone then to my breast. I groaned as I felt his teeth bite down ever so softly and pull gently against my nipple. First my left side, then my right. His hands slid down my waist and back onto my hips, telling me to quicken the pace again. I could feel myself getting close as I tried to fight the feeling, trying to make this last. But an orgasm overtook me and I cried out his name.

His hands stayed on my hips, urging me to keep going as I felt his body tense. His hands slipped away to grab fistfuls of the sheet as he groaned, his head thrown back with pleasure. His body relaxed and I slowly stilled my hips. My arms shook like jelly from the effort of holding myself over him. Carefully, I rolled off him onto my side, snuggling against him.

"We are going to do that again," he said gruffly.

"Now?" I squeaked, trying to get my heart rate to drop out of the stratosphere.

Ranger chuckled. "No, not now." He snaked an arm around me and I rested my head on his chest. I could hear his heart racing, though not nearly as fast as mine. "But definitely again."


	22. TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-TWO

I woke the next day to the cawing of gulls, the crashing of waves, and the smell of salt air and coffee. I opened my eyes to blinding sunlight, alone in bed. Blinking, I slowly let my eyes adjust to the day. The balcony doors stood open and a cool morning breeze filled the room.

A fluffy white robe lay on the foot of the bed. I slipped out from beneath the covers, shivering slightly as I wrapped myself in the robe. Freshly brewed coffee beckoned from the small coffee maker on the desk across the room, where an empty mug waited for me. I filled it with coffee, several creamer cups, and a few packets of sugar, then joined Ranger on the balcony.

Ranger sat in one of the patio chairs, his coffee mug resting on a round glass table. He wore black lounge pants and a black t-shirt. He caught my arm as I passed.

"Good morning," he said, pulling me down for a light kiss.

"Good morning," I replied, settling into the second patio chair and sipping at my coffee. The beach glittered in the morning sun. A few couples quietly strolled along the water line. Gentle waves crashed into the shore and blue ocean stretched out for as far as the eye could see.

Once the caffeine began to work, I turned to Ranger, asking, "What kind of business do you have this morning?"

"I need to acquire a few more fleet vehicles for Rangeman."

I paused for a second. "Acquire how? I'm not going to need to call Vinnie to bond you out, am I?" Where Ranger acquired his vehicles had always been a source of concern. I'd asked once, and he'd told me he could tell me but he'd have to kill me. I remained only half certain he had been joking.

"You'll see," Ranger replied with a smile. "You're coming with me."

I looked down at the crystal-clear pool below us and the pristine beach. "I think I would rather stay here and lounge by the pool."

"I'm sure you would," he responded. "Doesn't change anything."

Someone knocked on the door. "Room service," Ranger explained as he rose and answered the knock. A few minutes later he walked back onto the balcony with a tray, which he placed on the table between us.

It contained a large carafe of orange juice and two glasses, as well as two covered plates. I took the lid off my plate and found scrambled eggs, bacon, and a blueberry muffin. Ranger's plate had scrambled egg whites, whole wheat toast and half a grapefruit.

I brushed blueberry muffin crumbs off my robe as Ranger stood and told me, "We need to get moving."

I followed him back into the room. I showered first so that I could blow dry my hair and do my makeup while he showered.

"What does one wear to acquire cars?" I asked as Ranger stepped out of the shower, a towel around his waist.

"Nothing to make oneself stand out," he replied. My stomach did a nervous flip.

I pulled on a pair of khaki shorts that hit mid-thigh and a stretchy blue t-shirt with a modest scoop neck. I slid into a pair of flip flops, but then changed my mind and put on ankle socks and running shoes. Just in case. I carefully put mascara on my lashes and a light layer of lipstick on my lips. My hair was a frizzy mess, thanks to the sudden humidity, but there wasn't much I could do about it with just one hand.

"I don't suppose you know how to put a girl's hair into a ponytail?" I asked Ranger.

"I could put my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck when it was long," he replied.

I looked in the mirror and cringed. "Anything is better than this."

Ranger pulled my hair back from my face and twisted an elastic band around it at the back of my neck. "You're perfect," he said. "Let's roll."

The valet retrieved the convertible and I slipped into the passenger seat. I felt slightly panicky as Ranger drove us back toward the city. He hopped on the beltway and rode the interstate away from Miami, eventually taking an exit that led us into suburbia. We passed strip malls, chain restaurants, and roads to tightly clumped housing developments. Suburbia began to fade away, houses gained more yard and fewer neighbors. Ahead, I saw what looked like a large municipal building on the right side of the road. A huge gravel lot stood behind it, encircled with a chain link fence topped with shiny barbed wire.

Ranger put on his turn signal and swung into the lot. A big wooden sign staked into the grass read, "Miami-Dade County Confiscated Vehicle Auction" with today's date below it. A bored looking officer directed arriving traffic to park in the grass in front of the building.

"This is a car auction," I breathed, my stomach finally unclenching as Ranger parked in the grass.

"It is," Ranger said with a smile.

I punched him in the arm. "Jerk."

Ranger laughed. "You didn't really think I was taking you to steal cars, did you?" He angled out of the car and I followed suit.

"There are rumors about where you get your vehicles," I said in my defense.

"I know. I started them. Besides, I only get some of my fleet from auctions."

I gaped at him for a second. "This would really hurt your tough guy image if people knew you bought your cars from police auctions. Even if it's just only some of them."

"Which is why no one will find out. I'm invoking spousal privilege." We began walking toward the municipal building.

"I'm pretty sure spousal privilege is only for testifying in court. Plus, we're not married."

Ranger shrugged. "We're close enough."

I stopped dead in my tracks, breathing hitched. Ranger took a few more steps before noticing I no longer walked beside him.

"You're not going to hyperventilate, are you?" he asked, looking back at me.

I made a concerted effort to regulate my breathing. Currently, I lived with Ranger. I slept with Ranger. I sported Ranger's fake wedding rings. I was in Miami with Ranger, going to his cousin's wedding and buying fleet vehicles at a car auction.

"Shit," I finally said, "you're right."

Ranger retraced his last few steps and locked his gaze with mine. "Look, all I'm saying is that there are things I share with you that I don't share with anyone else. Marriage is a piece of paper. I share things with you because I trust you, and to me that's a lot more important than a piece of paper."

"And you trust me not to go ruining your reputation."

"Yes."

I mimed zipping my lips and throwing away the key. Ranger rolled his eyes.

We walked into the municipal building. A large table had been set up just inside the entrance. Ranger filled out a form and received a paddle with the number forty-seven on it for the auction. Beyond the table, lines of folding chairs waited in front of a stage made of moveable risers. A single podium sat on the stage, with a white screen at the back. The chairs stood empty. Everyone appeared to be outside in the impound lot, looking at the rows and rows of vehicles to be auctioned.

"So these are all vehicles the police confiscated?" I asked as I followed Ranger out a propped-open set of back doors and into the fenced in lot.

"Yes. Mostly from drug dealers and cartels that they bust. Anything they can tie back to drug money they can confiscate, and if the charges stick, they become property of the county. Every so often they auction off the inventory to raise money for the drug taskforces in the area."

I looked around at the rows of vehicles. Every make, model, and color seemed to be represented, including a sea of shining motorcycles. There were even several speed boats strapped to trailers in the back.

I noticed two men walking toward us and nudged Ranger. Both stood taller than Ranger, muscular arms covered in tattoos. They looked like they might be here to buy back cars that were confiscated from them.

"Relax, they're my guys."

Of course they were.

Ranger greeted his men in Spanish and they gave each other manly half hugs. One of the men carried a locked brief case, which he handed to Ranger.

"Steph, this is Dante and Tomás. Dante heads my Miami division and Tomás is his Tank. This is Stephanie Plum."

I gave them a little wave.

Dante looked at my bandaged hand. "What happened to your hand?" he asked in a thick Latino accent.

"I had a disagreement with the Trenton mob," I replied straight faced.

I saw Dante glance at Ranger, but Ranger's face didn't give anything away. Dante looked back at me and held my gaze for a few seconds before I cracked a smile and looked away.

"Eh, you almost had me."

"You're the one they call Bombshell, aren't you?" asked Tomás.

"I see my reputation precedes me." I raised my eyebrows at Ranger.

He shrugged. "I can't help it if the guys talk."

"You come with Ranger to pick out a new car? I heard your last one blew up in a mall parking lot," said Tomás.

I sighed. "You guys have a betting pool, too, don't you?"

Dante and Tomás looked confused. "They've got a betting pool in Trenton? How do we get in on this, boss?"

Ranger gave me a sideways look and a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. "Because what I really need is the Miami office betting on your next vehicle catastrophe too."

"Just call me Seabiscuit."

Ranger moved on from the subject. "You two see anything the Miami office can use?"

Dante shrugged and waved toward a row of SUV's. "The usual. But they got a real nice Ferrari 488 Spider that would really class up our operation."

"What color?"

"Black."

Ranger's eyes flickered toward the line of sports cars.

"Are you going to buy it for their office?" I asked.

"No. I'm going to buy it for myself."

We all trooped over to the row of sports cars, the Ferrari easily identified thanks to the large crowd around it. Flanked by Dante and Tomás, Ranger radiated an aura of intimidation. The effects parted the sea of people so we could get a better look at the two-seat convertible the color of midnight. Even I, who knew nothing about cars, recognized a drool worthy piece of automotive technology.

Ranger eventually dragged himself away from the Ferrari to look at the SUVs. He wrote down the auction numbers of a few on a card, then he turned to me.

"See anything you like?"

"I liked the Ferrari."

Ranger grinned. "That one is mine, but I'll take you for rides anytime you want. Pick something else for yourself."

"Wait, you're serious?" I asked, my breath catching in my lungs.

"I'm serious."

"I don't want you to buy me a car."

"I'm going to end up loaning you one, anyway. Might as well pick something you like."

"I'm just going to get it stolen, or set on fire, or blown up, or split in half by a snow plow."

Ranger smiled. The snow plow incident had exceeded everyone's expectations of my destructive ability.

"So pick something you'll really like for the next two weeks."

"I can buy my own car." No, I couldn't. At least not right now. But I didn't like being a charity case.

"Babe, I got the insurance check from the Jeep. I need to replace it either way. Now, I could just pick something I think you'll like or you can pick something you do like. And when you buy your own car, you can give it back."

We both knew the cars Ranger loaned me were almost never returned to him in one piece. They were usually returned in the form of insurance claims.

"Okay, I'll pick something," I agreed, turning back toward the SUV section.

Nothing really caught my eye until I saw a few pick-up trucks at the end of the row.

Ranger eyed me up. "See, that's why I wanted you to choose. I would not have picked this for you."

I examined the trucks. "It saves me from renting a truck to put the furniture back into my apartment once it's fixed." I explained. "It'll be good in the snow, and if I pick up a skip I don't want to ride in the cab, I can always toss him in the bed."

Ranger grinned, probably imagining me trying to toss someone into the bed of the truck.

I stopped beside a black Chevy Colorado with a crew cab and short box bed. It had side rails installed and dark tinted windows. I tried the door handle and found it unlocked. Dark gray fabric covered the upholstered seats. A fancy screen sat where I expected to find a radio and it looked like it had OnStar capability. Not that I needed OnStar when I had Rangeman. I climbed into the driver's seat with relative ease, thanks to the side rail, and scooted behind the wheel.

"How do I look?" I asked Ranger.

"Sexy," he replied, his eyes glinting darkly in the sunlight. He put a foot onto the side rail, raising himself level with me. "I will buy you this truck," he whispered in my ear, "but what you did to me last night, you are going to do to me again, here." He patted the side of the seat.

My knuckles went white around the steering wheel and my heart missed a few beats. "Maybe someone will out bid you." I sounded too hopeful.

"Not likely," he replied, stepping back to the gravel. "You'll find I'm highly motivated to win this auction." He offered me his hand and I hopped out, not entirely trusting my knees to hold me. Ranger shut the door behind me and guided me back to the municipal building.

Despite the number of vehicles, the auction moved quickly. Too quickly for me to fully understand the proceedings. Good thing Ranger controlled our bidding paddle. He successfully won several of the SUVs he wanted for Rangeman. I twitched in my seat as the Chevy Colorado came up for auction and Ranger smiled slightly at my discomfort. To my horror, the rest of the bidders seemed disinterested in the truck. Ranger won it for a steal. I tried not to dissolve into a panic attack. That left just the Ferrari. The room went eerily silent as it came up, the last lot of the day.

Ranger leaned forward in his seat, tense, game face on.

The auctioneer began the bidding and paddles rose throughout the room. I had no idea who bid what, but as the price climbed into the tens of thousands, the less serious bidders dropped out. The bids rose by thousands at a time, Ranger staying in the thick of it. The price reached what I considered an insane level, amounts that could buy a respectable house in the Burg. Finally, two bidders remained: Ranger and an African American man in the back of the room. Ranger bid another ten thousand dollars, reaching the limit for the gentleman in the back of the room. He bowed out and Ranger was declared the winner.

The entire room burst into applause. Several people shook Ranger's hand as they filed out of the auction area.

"You look shell shocked, Babe."

"I think I am. What exactly just happened?"

Ranger shot me a huge grin. "I just bought a Ferrari."

"Okay, that's what I thought just happened."

I followed Ranger out to a line of tables, where winning bidders paid for their new vehicles. Ranger placed the locked briefcase on the table and thumbed in the combination. Inside huddled stacks of bundled hundred-dollar bills. I tried to act like I saw this much money on a regular basis, but internally I freaked out.

Ranger paid for all the new vehicles, including the Ferrari, in cash, and received the keys and titles. He handed those over to Dante and Tomás, with directions to get the Ferrari, my new truck and one of the SUV's loaded on a car carrier and on the way back to Trenton by nightfall. The other SUV's would be driven back to the Miami office.

I slid into the passenger seat of the Mustang and looked sideways at Ranger. "I don't feel so bad about you buying me a truck now. That was just chump change, compared to what you just put down on that Ferrari."

"Babe, that Ferrari retails for over three-hundred thousand. I got the bargain of my life today."

"So, I know where you get your cars from now. Are you going to tell me where the briefcase full of cash came from?"

Ranger smiled as he backed out of his spot. "There are some things that should stay secret, for your protection and mine." I gaped as he pulled out into the main road, heading back toward Miami, our hair blowing in the breeze.


	23. Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

My stomach growled loudly by the time we arrived back at the resort. We ordered room service and waited on the balcony for lunch to arrive. Outside, workers scurried around the manicured lawn, setting up round tables and a portable dance floor for the reception. On the beach, white folding chairs were being lined up, facing the surf.

"I never asked. Is your cousin the bride or the groom?"

"The bride," Ranger replied. "Her name is Mia."

"Were you close?"

Ranger shrugged. "In a way."

"In a way?"

"I'm nine years older than her, so when I moved down here I often got assigned to babysit her."

I smiled, trying to imagine Ranger babysitting. "Please tell me there's a photograph somewhere of you playing tea party with her."

"I didn't play tea party, and I wasn't exactly the best influence. She got in trouble at school for threatening the kids who picked on her that I'd beat the snot out of them."

"Would you have?"

"Without a second thought."

Room service delivered lunch and I inhaled half a BLT. I started on the second half and looked down longingly at the pool deck. "I think there might be enough time for me to take a quick swim before I need to get ready for the wedding." And by swim, I meant stretch out on a lounge chair and soak in some rays while reading a dirty novel.

"You might not," Ranger replied. "I made you an appointment at the hotel spa for two-thirty. Thought you might want an actual expert to do your hair for the wedding, since my skill set ends at ponytail. You can cancel it if you want."

I looked again at the pool and sighed. "No, I need something a little better than a ponytail."

At two-thirty, I plopped into a stylist's chair in the posh spa. Half an hour later, I reemerged, my hair defrizzed, tamed and pulled away from my face. Two pieces twisted in a loose braid around to the back, leaving the ends to drape down my neck and shoulders in big beachy curls. The stylist had tucked a sprig of small white flowers into the back, slightly off centered to the right. Ironically, she'd said the flowers were called Stephanotis.

I returned to the hotel room and immediately took up residence in the bathroom to do my makeup and get dressed. At three-thirty, I emerged in the skimpy little blue lace dress Ranger had picked out of my closet and a pair of strappy tan sandals with three inch block heels. Ranger waited for me on the balcony. He'd dressed in a pair of dark brown dress pants, brown loafers and a dark blue button-down dress shirt that complimented my dress. The top few buttons were left intentionally unbuttoned, making him look sexy as hell.

I heard Ranger suck in a breath as he got a good look at me, his eyes darkening.

"No messing up the hair, makeup, or dress before the wedding," I warned, intentionally saying nothing about after. I'd written the dress off as a sacrifice to the sex gods since I didn't expect it to live through the night.

Ranger pulled me against him. "We could always skip the wedding," he murmured, lips kissing down the side of my neck.

I twisted away from him before he convinced me that was a good idea. "Let's go."

We rode the elevator down to the main floor and walked out of the lobby toward the beach.

* * *

As the wedding reception wound down, I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd survived meeting Ranger's family. His mother got the word out beforehand about the pretend wedding rings and mercifully no one mentioned them. The DJ announced the last slow dances of the night. "You and Me" by Lifehouse began to play as the bride and groom moved close together on the dance floor. Many of the people sitting out the more exuberant dancing rose to join in a slow dance.

Ranger stood and offered me his hand. I accepted his silent invitation and followed him to the dance floor. He pulled me close, wrapping his left arm around my waist and gently taking my left hand in his right, holding our hands close to his chest. I draped my right hand around his neck and leaned into his body, enveloped in the heavenly aroma of Bulgari Green. I let Ranger lead, not that we did anything fancier than shuffle our feet and sway gently to the music. My head rested against his chest and shoulder, his face resting against the top of my head. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, listening to his heart beat. The song changed to "Unforgettable," then "At Last" by Etta James.

As the final notes faded, Ranger and I ruefully moved apart.

"Walk with me, Babe," he whispered into my ear.

We snaked our way off the dance floor and away from the reception. At the edge of the grass, we paused to take our shoes off. We added them to the growing pile of abandoned footwear, not the only ones to think of a nighttime stroll in the sand. Ranger rolled the cuffs of his pants to mid-calf before leading me into the darkness.

The surf felt cool, but pleasant. We walked slowly, hand in hand. A nearly full moon, somehow larger than the moon back in Jersey, hung above us.

"It's beautiful here," I said lightly, looking out over moonlit waves. "Why don't you work out of your Miami office? This is paradise."

"Most of my family lives in Jersey." He paused half a second before continuing, "You're in Jersey." He gave me a meaningful look. "It'd be hard to be your super hero from down here."

I knew I relied on Ranger way too much. "I don't want to be the thing holding you back."

"Babe, you don't hold me back. You make life enjoyable."

"Because I amuse you?"

"Because I love you."

It wasn't the first time he'd told me he loved me, but the air caught in my lungs just the same. It took a few seconds for me to find my voice. "But you can't offer commitment." It wasn't a question. I'd heard it countless times from him.

Ranger took a beat to reply. "I've been reevaluating my own rules."

I sucked in a breath. The idea of a committed relationship with Ranger set butterflies loose in my stomach. I could barely handle sex with him occasionally, but to get it on a regular basis? Fire raced across my skin and headed south.

I saw Ranger smile in the moonlight as he leaned over to kiss me. One of his hands snaked through my hair, the other wrapped around my waist to pull me into him. Several minutes passed before we broke apart, gasping for air.

"You want to go back to the room?" I breathed.

"Yes, and tonight I'm driving."

A sensual whimper escaped my lips as a fresh thrill shot through my body.

We walked quickly back to the hotel, collecting our shoes and washing the sand off our feet at a spigot by the entrance to the lobby.

The elevator doors barely closed behind us before Ranger pressed himself against me again, kissing me hungrily. We stumbled into our room and Ranger released me just long enough to toss the "Do Not Disturb" sign onto the doorknob before shutting and bolting the door.

He had my dress and panties off before we crossed the room, and his clothes soon landed on the floor as well. The back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress and I fell onto the bed. Ranger crawled after me, using his knees to spread my legs before sliding inside me. We moaned in unison. He thrust his hips slowly, cautiously, as his lips worked their way from my mouth down toward my chest. I matched his rhythm, moving my hips opposite his, moaning with pleasure. His mouth brushed one of my breasts as he sucked a nipple between his lips. My breaths grew ragged at his ministrations, my hands gently roaming across his back.

I felt my body getting close to release, but Ranger suddenly stilled his hips and the feeling faded. I gave Ranger a concerned look, but earned only a wicked grin in return.

He picked the rhythm back up, growling in my ear, "I'm not ready for you to come yet."

Holy shit. I gulped as his words sent shivers across my entire body.

He brought me to the edge of ecstasy again and once more slowed, resting inside me for a minute before resuming.

"Please don't stop," I moaned the third time I felt myself getting close. "Ranger, please!"

He didn't stop thrusting this time and my back arched off the bed as a wave of pure pleasure swept through me. His lips crashed down on mine as he continued to move inside me, moaning as he reached his own climax. Our bodies stilled, the only movement the heavy rise and fall of our chests as we both struggled to catch our breath.

He kissed me, with tongue, and I felt him harden again inside me.

"We're not sleeping tonight, are we?" I asked softly.

He ground his hips against mine. "Who needs sleep?"

* * *

"The sun is rising," I remarked quietly as soft light filtered into the room through the balcony curtains.

I lay on my back, the covers pulled up to my belly button. Ranger rested on his right side next to me, tracing lazy circles around my breasts with his finger. We'd slept only a few hours, if that. Finally, though, we both seemed to be spent. His fingers felt warm against my skin, but not arousing.

"Did you mean it when you said you were reevaluating your rules?" I asked softly.

"Yes."

I waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.

"You can't just leave me with a 'yes.'"

He gave me a half smile and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. "I'm tired of sharing you."

"It's not that simple," I returned. "I love you, but I also love Morelli."

Ranger smiled. "You've never told me you loved me before."

"You knew it."

"But it's nice to hear you say it."

"It doesn't uncomplicate matters."

"No, but I'm partly to blame too," he said gently. "I made it clear that I couldn't offer you a relationship. I just expected you to eventually marry Morelli and that would be the end of it."

"You underestimated just how screwed up I am in the relationship department."

"No, I underestimated my feelings for you. And I've come to realize that Morelli isn't the right guy for you."

I raised my eyebrows at him, "and you are?"

"I think we're right for each other. You and Morelli are like a pair of refrigerator magnets. If you are both facing the right direction, you attract. A lot. But if one of you gets turned around, instead of attracting, you push apart. And I think you both know it."

As much as I hated to admit it, Ranger made a valid point. Morelli and my relationship swung between two extremes like a perpetual pendulum. "If Morelli and I are refrigerator magnets, what are you and I?"

"You and I are like gravity. No matter how far I tried to distance myself from you, I got pulled back. Our attraction is natural and not easily broken."

"You know, a less secure woman may take offense to being likened to something with enough mass to have a gravitational field," I teased.

Ranger kissed my forehead. "Good thing you're a secure woman."

"So, we're gravity, like the moon around the Earth. Doesn't mean the moon wants to be there."

"Trust me, I want to be there."

I scanned his face. "Are you sure this isn't just an overreaction to almost dying? A midlife crisis a decade early?"

"I'd been contemplating it before I got shot, but…"

"But?" I prompted, anxious to hear whatever he held back.

Something seemed to crumble as I watched Ranger's face. The façade he kept up even around me disappeared and he gazed back at me with nothing but honesty in his eyes. He laid a hand along the side of my face, thumb stoking my skin softly. "I knew I was dying," he explained in a whisper. "As everything faded to black, when I thought the last sound I'd ever hear was your panicked voice, I felt regret. Now, there are quite a few things in my life I should feel remorse over, but in the end, you were my only qualm. That I'd wasted the time I'd been given with you. And then you turned out to be the reason I have a second chance at it."

He bent his head down, brushing a light kiss across my lips. I recalled his mother's words to me before she left, seeming prophetic now. A tremor of fear ran through me. What if I couldn't live up to Ranger's new expectations? Disaster seemed to tail my love life. Unable to bear hearing anymore, I reached up, entangling my left hand in his hair, trying to keep his mouth on mine, hoping to distract him with thoughts of a more physical nature. Ranger chuckled as he pulled away.

"For someone who accused me of always keeping my emotional distance, you sure are trying to derail my attempts to close the gap."

My heart raced inside my chest. "You're going to need to spell this out for me. If you've thrown out the old rules, what are the new ones?" I needed to hear him say it plainly.

"I want a serious relationship with you. A committed relationship, where I am yours and you are mine. And only mine. In whatever form you want that to take."

"Does that mean marriage is on the table?" I breathed, absentmindedly fiddling with the fake rings.

Ranger paused, "If that's what you want, I'll replace those fake rings with real ones tomorrow."

Whoa. My breath caught in my throat. Ranger watched me with just a hint of a smile and I realized he was messing with me. He knew my trepidation about marriage. And I knew his. I toyed with the idea of accepting, just to see if he would balk first. But then I thought better of it. A game of chicken with Ranger over marriage might not end until we were both standing in front of an altar.

"I think we should just try dating first," I replied. Even that seemed crazy. Me dating Ranger? "What are the other rules?"

"Just one other rule. No children. You're already a target for anyone looking to hurt me, and I've come to terms with that. I won't bring a child into it, though. It wouldn't be fair to you, me, or a kid. And I understand if that is a deal breaker."

I took a shaky breath. "So, two rules: monogamy and no babies." I didn't know how well I would do with either of those things. I'd honestly tried to stay true to Morelli when we'd been together, but Ranger did a fair job of sneaking kisses and touches anyway. And there were times when I looked at my little nieces and desperately wanted a baby of my own. The feeling usually passed as soon as the kid needed a diaper change or started screaming, but one day I feared my biological alarm clock would start ringing and refuse to stop.

We laid in silence for a few minutes. I weighed my options in my mind. Ranger's offer both exhilarated and terrified me. I'd had both Morelli and Ranger in my life for so long that my messy love life felt normal. Complicated became my comfort zone, the status quo. But the status quo had gotten me nowhere.

"You don't have to decide right now and this isn't an ultimatum," Ranger said softly.

"I have decided," I replied. "I'm just scared. I break things. What if I destroy gravity?"

Ranger laughed lightly, then pulled me into him for a long kiss. "Even you can't destroy gravity, I guarantee it."

I yawned and snuggled into his side.

"Get some more sleep, Babe."

* * *

I woke to the sound of the room door opening and quiet voices. Cracking open my eyelids, I saw Ranger carry a room service tray onto the balcony. The tempting aroma of bacon and maple syrup drifted after him. I sat up, stretched, and dragged myself into the bathroom. A few minutes later I reemerged wrapped in a terry cloth robe, looking and feeling slightly more human. I joined Ranger on the balcony.

I sat down opposite Ranger and took a few long swigs of coffee, then ate a piece of bacon. "I had a really odd dream about us last night," I told him between bites.

"Was it about gravity?"

I looked at him over the rim of my coffee mug. "I didn't dream that conversation, did I?"

"No. Having second thoughts?"

"No, are you?"

Ranger smiled. "No regrets."

I finished my breakfast and looked longingly down at the pool.

"We need to check out in an hour," Ranger said, "but the front desk will hold our luggage and let us use the amenities until it's time to leave for our flight."

"Sweet. You'll find me by the pool."

"I never would have guessed," Ranger replied dryly.

I got my suitcase packed and stuffed some clothes and sneakers into a bag to keep with me. Then I changed into the little black bikini from Victoria's Secret and slipped the silky mini dress cover-up over top. We checked out and left our luggage in a secured room behind the front desk, then made our way out to the pool.

I grabbed a complimentary beach towel and staked my claim to a poolside lounge chair. I pulled out my iPod, a trashy romance novel, and yanked the cover-up over my head.

"I don't suppose you'd consider putting that back on?" Ranger said into my ear.

"Nope," I replied, settling onto the lounge. "I'm getting a tan."

"And a lot of looks," he grumbled, stretching out on the lounge next to mine. He wore dark gray swim trunks and a tight blue t-shirt that accentuated his biceps and abs.

"Welcome to how I feel," I replied, watching more than a few women, and one guy, look Ranger over appreciatively. "At least I need to take most of my clothes off to turn heads. You do it with no effort at all."


	24. Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

I woke to an empty bed Monday morning, Ranger already up and working. I didn't know how he did it. I'd fallen asleep on the plane, then again on the car ride back to Trenton, and I still felt exhausted. I showered and dressed, not sure what I wanted to do with my day. I unwrapped my burnt hand, pleased to see most of the blisters had faded. I used Band-Aids to cover up the few spots that were still painful, returning myself to two handed mobility.

I knew I should call Morelli to see if there were any updates on Fortecelli, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Dread settled into the pit of my stomach every time I thought about telling him about Ranger and me.

Breakfast remained on the dining room table when I emerged from the bedroom. Ranger sat in his office, working on his computer. I spread cream cheese on a toasted bagel and ate standing up.

I stuck my head into Ranger's office. "I'm going to head to the bonds office to see who came in since Thursday."

"Have fun. Be careful." He didn't even look away from his screen.

I paused for a second. "You've already assigned me a shadow, haven't you?"

"Yes."

I sighed, but decided not to argue. "I take it that means Fortecelli is not yet in police custody?"

"Correct. And from what I've heard, they have less leads than you," he finally turned away from his computer to fix me with a serious stare. "Are you going to talk to Morelli today?"

I squirmed. "I'm not sure. Probably tomorrow." Preferably next decade, if I could manage it.

Ranger stood, walking to within an arm's length of me. "You can change your mind about us. I'd understand."

"I haven't changed my mind. I'm just not eager to break it to Morelli."

"Babe, I'm not going to hide our relationship. You know how word gets around the Burg. Morelli deserves to hear it from you, and to hear it today."

I sighed. Ranger was right. I did owe it to Morelli to tell him Ranger and I were dating before he heard it from someone else. "I'll talk to him today," I promised, hoping maybe Fortecelli would kidnap me before I got the chance.

Ranger closed the last bit of space between us, pulling me against him for a gentle kiss. "See you later," he said, stepping away and returning to his desk.

Scott waited eagerly for me in the parking garage when the elevator doors opened. He wore black cargo pants and a black t-shirt with a line of white Greek letters across the chest: Pi, Lambda, Upsilon, Mu. "Where we going today?" he asked.

"To the bail bonds office to start with," I replied, eying up his shirt. It didn't look like standard Rangeman attire.

"Cool. I'll be right behind you." He turned to walk to a black SUV and I saw the back of his t-shirt read 'security.' I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Ranger.

"Yo."

"Why is Scott wearing a t-shirt with 'Plum' written across the front in Greek letters?"

"Because he survived the hazing and initiation into the P.L.U.M. fraternity."

I went silent for a beat. "Is this another one of those office morale things?"

"The guys found the idea hilarious. Are you mad?"

"No. I want one too."

"If you don't break Scott by the end of the day, I'll get you one."

"Deal."

I climbed into my black Equinox and motored toward the bail bonds office, Scott close behind. He stayed in his SUV, parked at the curb, as I went in to see if Connie had any new files for me.

"Look at you," Lula remarked as I strolled in. "Not as white and pasty as usual."

Connie glanced behind me. "I see Captain America in the SUV at the curb. What's that about?"

"Ranger has one of his guys tailing me today, since Fortecelli remains at large and might attempt to roast me alive again. Any new FTAs?"

"Just two," she replied, handing me both files. "Neither is worth a whole lot."

I flipped through the files for Curtis Novak and Al Carpenter. Curtis went FTA on a public lewdness charge and Al for felony burglary and breaking and entering. That gave me three active cases, not counting Fortecelli.

"Do I want to know what Novak did to earn the public lewdness charge?"

"Standard pervert," Connie replied. "The cops caught him whacking off in his car while watching one of those hot yoga classes through the studio window."

"Lovely. And Carpenter?"

"Broke into a tattoo parlor and piercing studio and made off with a couple thousand dollars in gold and silver piercing studs."

"So who we going after first?" Lula asked. "The pervert or the burglar?"

"Carpenter. His bond is higher." As I put my coat back on, my cell phone rang. I saw my parents' number on the screen.

"Hello."

"Stephanie, it's your mother." She always said this. Just in case I had a sudden case of amnesia and forgot her voice. "I need a favor," she continued. "The school just called Val. They think Mary Alice has pink eye. Val can't get away from work, so I need to go pick up Mary Alice and take her to the pediatrician. Your father had a fare to Newark, but the flight got cancelled, so now he has to drive all the way to JFK. Your grandmother wants to go to the morning viewing for Archie Sidall and I need you to go with her."

"I don't need a babysitter," I heard Grandma Mazur shout in the background.

"It's closed casket and you're not going alone," my mother replied. My grandmother had a reputation for trying to peek into closed caskets.

I really didn't want to take Grandma Mazur to the funeral home. "Gee Mom, I just got back and I'm overrun with FTAs. Vinnie's breathing down my back." I was probably going to hell anyway for fornication, so why not just add in some lying to my mother to seal the deal.

"What will it take? I'll make you a pineapple upside-down cake a week for the next month."

"I don't know, I might get sick of that much pineapple upside-down cake." Like hell, but I knew how to drive a hard bargain.

"Fine. I'll alternate. A pineapple upside-down cake one week, and a triple layer chocolate fudge cake the next. For a month."

"Two months."

"Tell her I got some good chocolate cake from Miriam Bell yesterday," I heard Grandma Mazur add. "We can have some after the viewing."

"Deal." I said. "I'll be right over."

I hung up and looked at Lula. "Raincheck on Carpenter. I need to go babysit Grandma Mazur."

I filled Scott in on the new plan as I walked back to my SUV. He tailed me to my parents' house and parked at the curb. My mother and grandmother both waited at the door.

"Don't look, but I think someone is following you," Grandma Mazur whispered.

"That's just Scott. He works for Ranger."

"Why is Scott following you?" my mother asked.

"Because the cops still haven't found the guy who set the fire in my building, and there is a slight chance he's after me."

My mother crossed herself. "I'll be back as soon as I can, but this time of year, the pediatrician's office could be packed."

My mother got into her Buick LeSabre and backed out of the driveway. Grandma followed me back to my borrowed Equinox and got in so I could drive her to the funeral home.

"How'd Archie die?" I asked Grandma as we drove.

"Heart attack," she replied. "I heard he got a porn DVD from Pleasure Treasure, popped it in, and died right there in his easy chair."

"So why's it closed casket?"

"He lived by himself. When he didn't show up for Bingo the first few days, his buddies figured he was really into the porn movie. It wasn't until they hadn't heard from him for a week that anyone went to check on him. I heard he'd gotten sort of gooey already and kind of melted into his easy chair."

Ewwww. I instantly felt sorry I'd asked.

We got to the funeral home and I managed to keep Grandma from prying open the lid. An hour later we were back at my parents' house.

"Where's the cake?" I asked as we walked in.

"Isn't it early for cake?" Grandma asked.

"It's never too early for cake," I replied. Especially since I'd promised Ranger I would talk to Morelli later. I might need a lot of cake today.

We trooped into the kitchen and Grandma Mazur pulled a Tupperware container out of the refrigerator. Inside were three small slices of chocolate cake topped with a fudgy chocolate icing.

"I feel like we should invite that fellow outside in for some cake," Grandma said as she lifted one slice out and set it on a plate. "It's awfully cold to just be sitting outside in a car."

I went to the front door and waved at Scott, motioning for him to come inside.

"What's wrong?" he asked, jogging to the door.

"Nothing. We're having chocolate cake. You want some?"

Scott looked at his watch. "It's barely eleven. Isn't it early for chocolate cake?"

"It's never too early for cake," I replied. Sheesh. Did no one else ever eat leftover cake for breakfast?

Scott shrugged. "Sure. Thanks."

We all sat down at the small kitchen table and dug into the cake, washing it down with tall glasses of milk.

"This is really good cake," Scott said. "Did you make it?" he asked Grandma Mazur.

"No. Miriam Bell gave it to me. She got it from her neighbor."

"That was nice of her neighbor," Scott said, using his finger to scrape the last bit of icing off the plate. He chugged the milk.

I polished off the last bite of my cake. "You should see if she can get the recipe for mom. There is just a hint of an earthy flavor that goes nicely with the chocolate. What do you think it is? Nutmeg?"

"No, it's not nutmeg," Grandma replied, thinking for a few seconds. "I can't place it. I'll have to ask Miriam."

Scott went back to the SUV. I washed the plates and glasses from the cake, then joined Grandma to watch TV in the living room. Half an hour later, I felt hungry. I went back to the kitchen and dug through my mother's pantry. I found half a box of TandyKakes and an unopened bag of BBQ chips. I toted both back to the living room.

"Good call," Grandma said. "I'm feeling a little peckish."

We annihilated the TandyKakes and chips.

"Those TandyKakes tasted even more peanut-buttery than usual," I said. "Too bad we don't have more." As I stood to go on another kitchen raid, the doorbell rang. It was Scott.

"Sorry," he said, "but I'm getting really hungry. Do you have anything I can eat?"

"Sure, Grandma and I were just getting something for ourselves. Boy, your eyes are really big." His pupils were so big I could barely see the blue part of his eyes.

"Really? Weird. So are yours."

I let Scott in, then ran up the steps so I could look at my eyes in the bathroom mirror. I tripped half way up the stairs, falling hard on my knees, but I laughed it off. "Oopsie daisy! I'm okay," I shouted.

I got to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My pupils were huge, just like Scott said. Somewhere in my brain, alarm bells went off. Something wasn't right. I felt okay. Actually, I felt better than okay, I felt fucking great. I didn't have a care in the world. I should have cares. Someone had nailed my window shut and set my apartment on fire. I giggled, then clapped my hand over my mouth. Where the hell had that come from?

I had felt like this before. Years ago, in college, my roomie and I would share a joint in our dorm room, get high and giggle our way through Disney movies and piles of junk food. And a while back, I'd been in a house full of pot when the place caught fire and gotten a pretty good second hand high off the smoke.

I ran downstairs and into the living room.

"Where does Miriam live?" I demanded to know from Grandma.

Grandma Mazur looked at me, her eyes huge as well, and seemed to think for a minute. "I know you just asked me a question, but I can't seem to recall what it was."

It took me a few seconds to remember my own question. "Where does Miriam live?"

Grandma answered this time. "Chestnut Street."

Frankie Rossi lived on that street. Miriam told Grandma a neighbor gave her the cake. I suddenly had a strong suspicion to Cookie's identity. And I was pretty sure the cake from Miriam was laced with pot.

Shit. I was high as a fucking kite. And so were Scott and Grandma. I giggled again.

"What's so funny?" Grandma asked.

"Nothing. Where's Scott?"

I found Scott in the kitchen, cleaning out the refrigerator. He had all the leftovers he could find spread out on the kitchen table, stuffing his face.

If my mother came home and found us like this, she would kill me. She might also kill Grandma and Miriam Bell. I pulled out my cell phone and called Ranger.

"Yo."

I giggled as soon as I heard his voice.

"Babe?"

Shit, keep it together Stephanie! "There's a problem. I think Grandma served me cake spiked with pot."

Silence reigned for a few seconds. "Run that by me again?"

"I'm at my parents' house. And Grandma had chocolate cake from Miriam Bell. Except I think Miriam got the cake from Cookie, because we're all high as kites right now." I giggled again.

"I'm coming over. In the meantime, I'm going to send Scott in to check on you."

"Scott is already here. We were nice and shared our chocolate cake with Scott."

"Shit."

I giggled. Ranger didn't swear very often. It was funny when Ranger swore.

"Babe, just stay in the house. I'll be right over."

I found a bag of M&Ms in the pantry and took them into the living room, where I settled into the easy chair. The bag lay empty and crinkled on the floor, hours later, when Ranger finally walked in. Tank and Bobby followed him.

"Where have you been?" I inquired. "I called you hours ago."

"It's been ten minutes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He sat down on the arm of the easy chair and looked me over. "Your eyes are like dinner plates. How much cake did you eat?"

"Just a small slice."

"Where's Scott?"

"In the kitchen."

Ranger turned to Tank and Bobby. "Take Scott back to Rangeman and lock him in an isolation room until he comes back down."

Tank and Bobby disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later they reemerged with Scott between them.

Scott looked at Ranger and me and gave us a goofy smile. "Hey, boss. Bombshell's grandma gave me some really awesome cake."

"She sure did," Tank replied, grinning. "Come on, Scott. It's time to go back to the office."

"The office? But there isn't anything good to eat at the office. Just wheat bread and granola and apples and shit."

"We'll stop at a drive through on our way," Bobby promised.

Scott's face lit up. "Yes. We can get fries. And one of those chocolate shake ice cream things. And then we can dip the fries in the ice cream."

I stood up and Ranger grabbed my arm. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"With them. They are getting fries and Frostys. I'm starving."

Ranger looked at the empty M&Ms bag, the chip bag, and the TandyKake wrappers strewn on top of the coffee table. "I think you've had enough junk food, Babe."

"Grandma helped eat some of that," I replied, watching longingly as Scott, Tank, and Bobby left the house.

"I'm going to clean up," Ranger said. "Then I'm taking you home."

"But I need to babysit Grandma."

"I think your grandmother will be fine without you." Ranger nodded toward the sofa, where Grandma Mazur was stretched out, fast asleep and snoring.

Ranger started cleaning up all the junk food wrappers. I grabbed the chip bag before him and tilted it upside down. A few BBQ chip crumbs fell into my mouth. Ranger gently took the bag from my hands. "Babe."

While he cleaned up after Scott in the kitchen, I watched Sponge Bob, giggling through an entire episode.

"Have you ever watched this show?" I asked when Ranger reappeared. "It's hilarious."

"Time to go, Babe," he said softly, turning off the TV.

It was a cold, overcast day, but the minute I stepped outside I turned around and went right back in the house.

"It's too bright. I'm staying in here."

Ranger reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of black sunglasses. He handed them to me. "Put these on and we'll stop at Wendy's to get you fries and a Frosty."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I put on the sunglasses and allowed Ranger to help me into his Porsche 911 Turbo. I ran my hands down the sides of the leather seats, admiring just how buttery smooth the leather felt under my finger tips. The interior smelled like leather and Ranger.

"Did you know this car is really sexy?" I asked as Ranger slid behind the wheel. "We should do it in this car."

"We tried that once, remember?" he replied with a hint of a smile.

I concentrated for a second and a blurry memory finally floated into my mind. "Yes! I made the horn go beep, beep, beep, with my ass. Want to do it again?"

"I thought you wanted fries and a chocolate Frosty?" Ranger replied.

I thought for a second. "Fries and a Frosty," I agreed.

Ranger ordered me large fries and a large chocolate Frosty from the Wendy's drive through window. I inhaled the aroma of fried potatoes as he handed me the bag. I took two fries, scrapped them across the top of the Frosty and popped them in my mouth.

"Did you just moan?" Ranger asked as he merged back into traffic.

"This is soooo good. This is better than sex."

"If you weren't stoned out of your mind right now, I'd take offense to that."

I was half way through the fries and Frosty by the time we got back to Ranger's apartment. I plopped down on the couch, found more Sponge Bob on Ranger's big screen TV, and continued to eat. This really was better than sex. Unless, of course, you combined the two. I looked over at Ranger and licked my lips.

"Whatever you are thinking, no," he said from his perch on the edge of the arm chair.

"But you didn't even listen to my idea." I got up, bringing my Frosty with me, and walked over to Ranger. He watched me warily. "If fries taste so good dipped in chocolate Frosty, imagine how good other things will taste?" I grabbed his hand, dipped one of his fingers in the Frosty and then sucked the ice cream off.

Ranger drew in a ragged breath and his eyes darkened. "Babe, I'm trying really hard not to take advantage of you."

I dipped another of his fingers into the Frosty. "I want you to take advantage of me."


	25. Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

I woke to afternoon sunshine slanting through the bedroom window. Groggily, I sat up, rubbing my forehead and trying to remember how I ended up naked and sticky in bed. Slowly, events returned to me and I groaned.

I heard Ranger's office chair creak as he got up. A few seconds later, he appeared in the bedroom.

"Tell me I didn't make a complete fool of myself," I begged.

Ranger sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me against him, kissing the top of my head. "You didn't make a public fool of yourself, if that helps," he replied with a smile. "And I'll never be able to look at a Frosty the same way again."

"Ugh," I put my head in my hands. "I'm so sorry." I suddenly remembered Scott and Grandma. "How's Scott? You aren't going to fire him, are you?"

"No. It wasn't his fault. There's a new rule about accepting food or drink from your grandmother, though. And he's not going to live it down among the other guys for a long time."

"What about my P.L.U.M. t-shirt? Does getting Scott stoned count as breaking him?"

"Yes."

Damn.

"I should call my mother and see how Grandma is doing." I grimaced, not looking forward to the conversation.

"I already did damage control with your mom."

"Did you tell her what actually happened?"

"No, I told her that after you and Grandma ate leftovers for lunch, something disagreed with you both. So you threw out all the leftovers, just in case, and then called me to come get you after your grandmother fell asleep."

"And she believed you?"

"No. I could hear her crossing herself over the phone. But she didn't ask for the real story, so I'm going with the assumption she doesn't want to know."

"We make a great couple. One day in and you're lying to my mother for me already."

"Babe." He sounded exasperated but he smiled when he said it. "Though, I'd like to know how your grandmother's friend got her hands on that much chocolate pot cake."

"Oh my gosh, I almost forgot. I think I know who Cookie is! I was wrong, it isn't a woman. I think it's Frankie Rossi!"

"And you came to this conclusion how?"

"Grandma told me Miriam got the cake from a neighbor, and she lives on the same street as Frankie Rossi."

"Not exactly a smoking gun."

"I want to go talk to Miriam and see if she will finger Rossi."

"Get a shower," he said to me, "and I'll drive you."

I quickly showered, the water fully sobering me up. My eyes were back to their normal size as I ran a brush through my hair and reapplied some mascara and lipstick.

Ranger waited for me when I reemerged. He'd changed into black cargo pants, a black t-shirt, and carried a large handgun on his hip.

"Maybe you should carry concealed," I suggested. "I'm not sure Miriam will let us in if she sees a big scary guy with a gun on his hip on her doorstep, especially since we're there to ask her questions about weed." Not to mention that, being friends with my grandmother, chances were good Miriam packed a gun too. And she might shoot first and ask questions later.

"Noted," Ranger replied, stepping into his dressing room. When he reemerged, no gun could be seen.

When I got off the elevator in the parking garage, there were more cars there than I expected. Ranger's new Ferrari rested next to his Turbo and Cayenne. My new truck sat at the end of the line of SUVs.

My hands flew to my hips. "You volunteered to drive me so you could take out the Ferrari, didn't you?"

"I would have volunteered to drive you anyway. The Ferrari is just an added bonus."

We got into the Ferrari. Ranger turned the key and the car purred.

"Damn!" I remarked, dangerously close to being turned on by an inanimate object.

Ranger grinned at me, looking happier than a kid on Christmas.

We were halfway to Chestnut Street when my cell phone rang. I looked at the number and froze. It was Morelli.

Ranger glanced over at me, then briefly at the screen before returning his eyes to the road. "You need to talk to him, Babe."

I sighed and answered the phone. "Hello."

"Hey, Cupcake. I thought you might want an update on Fortecelli."

"They found him?"

"No. He's got the DEA scratching their heads."

"Then how is that an update?"

"I guess it's not. I suppose I just wanted an excuse to talk to you. I missed you."

I took a shaky breath. "Joe, we need to talk."

"Shit. I don't like the sound of that. I don't suppose it's the kind of talking we do over a six pack and a pie from Pino's?"

I might need the alcohol after the talk. "No, it isn't. Look, I'm on my way to talk to a lead on Fortecelli. If it pans out, I might know who Fortecelli's partner is. Will you be home tonight?"

"Do I want to be home tonight?"

Probably not. "Do you want an honest answer to that?"

"Shit. Yes, I'll be home."

I hung up and tried to stay positive. Maybe Fortecelli or Rossi would shoot me before I had to go talk to Morelli.

Ranger pulled to the curb in front of Miriam Bell's home. Light seeped between the edges of the curtains on her kitchen window. I knocked on her door, Ranger standing close behind me. I saw Miriam peek through the sheer curtain covering the little window in her door.

"Hi, Miriam," I called. "It's Stephanie Plum, Edna's granddaughter."

Miriam opened the door and her eyes slid from me to Ranger.

"This is my friend Ranger," I added.

Miriam's eyes grew wide. "Edna's told me about him. I see she wasn't exaggerating." She opened the door and invited us inside.

"I wanted to ask you about the cake you gave Grandma."

"Oh dear," Miriam said. "I warned Edna about the potency. That she should only take a bite or two."

"You gave her three whole slices!"

"Well, yes, but I figured that would last her several months. It's still very good thawed after being frozen. A few bites are really all that is needed."

"Needed for what?" Ranger asked.

"Pain relief," Miriam replied as if it were obvious. "Edna mentioned her arthritis really acts up with the cold weather."

"Grandma said you got the cake from a neighbor. Was it Frankie Rossi?" I asked.

Miriam hesitated. "I don't want to get anyone in any trouble."

"I'm not after Frankie," I replied. "I just need to know if he's involved."

"Yes, Frankie brought me the cake," Miriam said.

I pulled out the photograph of George Fortecelli. "What about this guy? Have you ever seen him, maybe when Frankie dropped off the cake?"

"I don't know his name, I only saw him the one time. He was with Frankie when he brought me one of the cakes. He told me to enjoy it."

"How much did Frankie charge for the cake?" Ranger asked.

"Charge? Oh no, I think you have the wrong idea about Frankie. Frankie gave me the cake for free."

"For pain relief?" I asked.

"My knees used to be so bad, I could barely walk. Now I got two spanking new knee replacements, but I still got a freezer full of cake. So I've been slowly giving it away to friends as they need it."

"That may not be such a great idea, seeing as how it's special cake," I suggested.

"I suppose you are probably right. I just hate to see good food go to waste. I bet you'd know what to do with it, how I about I give the rest of it to you?"

I said, "sure," at the same instant Ranger said, "no!"

"Excuse us for a second," Ranger said, dragging me aside. "Do you understand what will happen if we get caught with that cake?"

"We can't let Miriam keep handing it out like leftover birthday cake," I whispered back. "What if the wrong people learn what she's got? She could be in serious danger. We take it and get rid of it. Besides, even if we get pulled over, it just looks like cake. No cop is going to suspect a few Tupperware containers full of cake."

I stepped away from Ranger and back to Miriam. "We'll take it off your hands," I told her.

"Great." Miriam opened her freezer. Rectangular blue Tupperware containers filled it from top to bottom.

"Is that all cake?" I asked nervously.

"Sure is," Miriam replied.

"If you get my Ferrari impounded, I'm going to be very unhappy with you," Ranger hissed in my ear. Goosebumps exploded along my arms, and not the good kind. Turns out Ranger could still intimidate me.

We left with three plastic grocery bags packed full of frozen cake. Ranger carefully loaded them into the Ferrari's tiny trunk.

"I want to stop by Rossi's house," I said to Ranger.

We drove two blocks and stopped outside Frankie Rossi's home. No car sat at the curb and the house looked dark, but we got out to knock on the door anyway. No one answered and the door was locked.

"I have reasonable suspicion that Rossi is harboring a FTA," I said to Ranger. He gave me a small smile, did something to the door knob, and the front door swung silently open.

We stepped inside, quietly closed the door, and listened for a few seconds. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary. Ranger reached into his pocket and slipped on a pair of disposable gloves, drew the curtains, then turned on a light. The house looked neat and orderly. I pulled out a pair of knit winter gloves from my coat pocket, put them on, then went to the kitchen and began rummaging in cabinets.

"Rossi has more baking gadgets than my mother," I said. I pulled open a drawer and found a stack of round stickers. "He's definitely Cookie."

"Babe, come see this."

Ranger stood in a small office, where he had Rossi's PC up and running. "Rossi got an interesting e-mail last night." He opened a file and several pictures appeared on the screen.

I grabbed the doorframe as my knees suddenly went weak. "Oh my god." The photos showed George Fortecelli, clearly dead. Fortecelli's glazed eyes stared at the camera, a stunned expression frozen on his face. A large bullet hole gaped in his forehead. The time stamps on the pictures were from December 27th. No wonder no one could find him.

"The text of the e-mail is four words: Cookie, you are next. I don't think Frankie is coming home tonight."

"Because he's dead?" I asked.

"Possibly. Or if he's smart, he's in California by now." Ranger pulled a flash drive out of one of the pockets of his cargo pants and inserted it into a port on Rossi's computer. "I'm going to copy his entire hard drive and have my guys go over it to see if there is anything else. Maybe they can trace the e-mail. It looks like Rossi tried to reply to the threat, but got an automatic invalid address reply. This will take a few minutes."

I snooped around the rest of Rossi's house while Ranger downloaded the contents of his computer. Nothing else stood out to me. I found an empty suitcase in Rossi's full closet, so I felt pretty sure he wasn't in California. Cautiously, I opened the door to Rossi's one-car garage. Fortecelli's maroon Ford Focus filled the space. The windows were heavily tinted, preventing me from seeing inside.

"Ranger!" I called and he appeared almost instantly.

He pulled his gun from his inside-the-waist holster and carefully approached the car. He opened the driver's door with one hand. I let out a sigh of relief finding it empty. Ranger reached in and popped the trunk release. No dead body.

"I guess we know who toasted the Jeep," I muttered.

"And your apartment," Ranger replied grimly.

We turned off the lights, re-opened the curtains, and locked the house as we left. Across the street, lights shone brightly inside Andrea Grayson's house.

I nodded toward the house. "Andrea Grayson lied to me about knowing George Fortecelli. She and he are friends on Facebook. And she told me that she only knew Frankie because he'd sometimes bring over cookies or brownies for her son. And now I think I know why she lied."

"She bought Cookie Crumbs products?"

"Yep." I crossed the street, walked to Andrea's door, and knocked. Ranger stood close, his hand protectively resting on my waist.

A little girl, maybe seven or eight, answered the door.

"Is your mommy home?" I asked.

"Mommy! There's someone at the door," she shouted, opening the door wider for us.

Andrea rushed out from the kitchen, wearing a pink apron that looked to be splattered with pasta sauce. "Amy, how many times have I told you not to open the door to people you don't know!" Her eyes grew wide when she saw me, and then wider when she saw Ranger.

"Hi, remember me?" I asked, stepping into the house without waiting for an invitation.

Andrea nodded, face pale. She looked terrified.

"I know you lied about knowing George Fortecelli," I said softly. "And I know what was in the baked goods Frankie brought over."

Andrea looked like she might cry. "You have to understand, I had no choice. Nothing else worked."

I was about to ask her what she meant when another child ran over, this time a boy about twelve or thirteen. He looked panicked. "Mom, it's Mason again."

Andrea turned her back on us and ran down the hall into another room. Ranger and I followed, finding Andrea on her knees next to the sofa in her family room. A tiny boy, four or five at the most, convulsed on the cushions.

I felt my throat constrict in panic and I grabbed for my cell phone so I could call 9-1-1. The older boy put his hand on mine to stop me.

"We only need to call 9-1-1 if he doesn't stop in a few minutes. Mason has epilepsy." He said it so matter-of-factly I nearly dropped the phone. "This happens all the time."

After about a minute, Mason stilled. I quickly decided I would rather spend hours looking at the pictures of Fortecelli's body than ever witness a child having a seizure again.

Andrea spent a few more minutes fussing over Mason before tucking a blanket around him and letting him go back to watching cartoons.

"I'm so sorry," I gushed as she stepped back into the foyer. "I thought…"

"You thought I was buying drugs for myself," she cut in. She didn't sound angry.

"The edibles were for Mason?" I asked quietly.

Andrea eyes met mine with a haunted look. "Believe me when I say we tried everything else. None of the medications work. The seizures happen too deep for surgery. We've been to specialists up and down the entire east coast."

"But Jersey has medical marijuana."

"We have him registered. The problem is, while it's legal, not a single medical insurer in the state pays for it. And we can't afford it. My husband works twelve hour shifts, six days a week, and we're still drowning in the medical bills."

I took a wild guess. "Does your husband work at CampTech?"

"Yes, that's how we know George. The factory put together a benefit to try to help us with some of the medical bills about a year and a half ago. George approached us not long after to offer us the kind of help he could provide. Frankie would drop off a few brownies once a week. Mason only needed two bites, once in the morning and then before bed. He went months without a seizure."

"But the supply went dry a little after Christmas?"

"Yes. Frankie felt heartbroken. He cried when he told me he couldn't keep helping. Something had happened to George, and Frankie was just the baker. He didn't know how to grow or process it."

"How does Mason feel about cake instead of brownies?"

"Who doesn't like cake?"

I glanced at Ranger. "There are a few crazy people in this world."

Ranger ignored the fact I'd called him crazy, but understood where I was going with this. "I'll be right back," he said, slipping back out the front door. Two minutes later he returned, carrying the three grocery bags of chocolate cake from Miriam Bell.

"Mason isn't the only one Frankie and George were helping. Someone else had some extra inventory. You should take it for Mason," I explained.

Andrea pulled one of the Tupperware containers out and opened it. She looked at all the containers in all the bags, then burst into tears and threw her arms around my neck.


	26. Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

I still felt pretty proud of my good deed until I realized where Ranger had driven me. We were a few blocks from Morelli's house. A knot instantly formed in my stomach, wiping away all traces of euphoria.

Ranger pulled to the curb behind Morelli's SUV.

"Maybe you should park a few houses away," I suggested. I didn't know how Morelli would take this. The slightest possibility existed he might try to shoot Ranger.

"He's not going to shoot me," Ranger replied, reading my mind.

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do. He knows I'll shoot back. It's kind of like America and the Soviet Union. Mutually assured destruction keeps us both well behaved."

"Morelli may look at this more like the Cuban Missile Crisis."

That earned me a smile from Ranger. He leaned over and kissed me, gently at first but then he slipped in some tongue. I felt slightly dazed as he pulled away.

"Reminding me why I'm doing this?"

"No, reminding myself how it felt to kiss you in this car, in case he convinces you to change your mind."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." I got out and walked slowly up Morelli's walk and rang the bell. I heard Bob start barking.

"It's open," Morelli called and I stepped inside. Bob bounded over to me, nearly knocking me on my ass.

Morelli sat on the couch, his feet on his coffee table. He drank a beer, an already empty bottle rested on the table, next to his duty pistol. I really hoped Ranger was right about the no shooting thing.

"My lead panned out," I said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. "George Fortecelli was working with his cousin, Frankie Rossi. Frankie is the Cookie half of Cookie and Crumbs. He baked all the edibles."

"Frankie told you this?"

"No, a few of the people he gave the edibles to told me this. And you should probably tell the DEA to check out his house as soon as possible."

"I don't want to ask, but I feel like I have to. Why?"

"Frankie's missing, he's got Fortecelli's car in his garage, and someone e-mailed him photos of Fortecelli with his brains blown out."

"Christ, Stephanie! Please tell me they aren't going to find your prints all over the place?"

"We wore gloves."

"We?" Morelli's mouth drew a grim line.

"Ranger and me."

I saw Morelli's eyes flit toward his gun. "Is he outside?"

"If I say yes, are you going to shoot him?"

"Maybe."

"He says he'll shoot back. Something about mutually assured destruction."

Morelli laughed, even though the situation seemed far from funny. "So, you filled me in about Fortecelli. I'll pass it on. Is that everything you wanted to talk about?"

"No," I breathed so lightly I didn't think Morelli even heard it until he moved closer to me on the couch. I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

"You didn't marry him for real, did you?" Morelli asked.

I looked up in surprise. "No!" I paused, summoning the courage to continue. "But he and I are, for lack of a better term, dating. Exclusively."

"So that's it then, the end of us? You just stop trying?"

I looked at him in shock. "We've been trying for years, Joe. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, we're completely insane."

"Your life is what's insane," he shot back, standing. "For Christ's sake, you just broke into a guy's house, found photos of a dead guy on his computer, and calmly tell me I should inform the DEA."

"This is what I mean. It always comes back to the same argument between us every single time. You don't like my job. I'm not giving up my job. I'm not going to change, Joe. I deserve to be with someone who accepts me as I am. I'm sorry." I got up and headed for the door. Morelli beat me there.

It looked like he planned to argue more, but then his eyes fell on the car at his curb. "Don't tell me that's a fucking Ferrari?"

"It's a Ferrari. We haven't got to the fucking part yet." I knew I'd aimed a low blow, but I didn't care.

"Jesus, Steph. Don't you ever ask yourself where he gets the cars? Think about this, before he drags you down with him."

"I know where he gets the cars. I watched him buy the Ferrari. It's legal." I had questions about the cash used to purchase it, but the Ferrari itself was legal. "Now, let me leave."

Morelli moved away from the door. "He's going to break your heart, Stephanie. And don't think you're crawling back to me when he does."

I pulled the door open and marched out into the night. Morelli slammed it on my heels. By the time I reached the Ferrari, hot tears slid down my face. I angled into my seat, wiping the tears away with my sleeve.

Ranger reached over and cupped the side of my face, our eyes locking in the dim dashboard light. I could see the question in his eyes. Were the tears for Morelli or for him?

"I'm officially yours," I said softly, "and only yours."

He brushed away a few tears with his thumb then leaned over to brush his lips lightly against mine before sliding the car into gear and pulling into the road. I still struggled to control the water works when Ranger suddenly accelerated. I gripped the edge of my leather seat, shooting Ranger a worried glance.

"We have a tail," he told me.

I wiped my eyes, turning in my seat to look at the receding headlights. "Rossi?"

"Maybe. Either way, I'm going to lose him." Ranger took a hard left, then an immediate right, gunning the engine through several stop signs before careening through another left turn. He backed into a deserted alley and killed the lights.

We waited in the darkness for several minutes. Finally, Ranger crept back onto the street, driving back to Rangeman.

I went straight to the kitchen and found a bottle of Merlot. Popping the cork, I poured a large glass for myself, taking several gulps before refilling it immediately. Morelli's words bounced around the inside of my head. If things didn't work out with Ranger, would I really find myself alone?

Ranger crossed the kitchen and poured himself a much smaller glass of wine. He sipped it, watching me over the rim of the glass.

"I wish I knew what you are thinking," he finally commented. "You look miserable."

"I'm not miserable at you," I returned, giving him a small smile. "Morelli said…" I shook the memory of the fight away. "Well, he took it about as I expected. And he knows how to wound with just words." I drained the rest of my glass as Ranger sampled his slowly.

"Besides supplying the wine," Ranger said as he refilled my glass, "is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?"

"Just don't prove Morelli right and break my heart," I whispered, blinking back the new tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

Glass clinked as Ranger set his wine glass down, then pulled me into him. "I don't plan to," he promised. "How can I prove that to you?"

"After our first time together, you told me you could make me forget Morelli if you put your mind to it." I locked my eyes with his. "Make me forget."

Ranger's eyes dilated black at my request. Carefully, he took the wine glass from my fingers and placed it on the counter. Tilting his head down, he captured my lips with his. He tasted of Merlot. His hands circled my back, pressing me against him. My hands slipped around his shoulders and into his silky hair.

We broke away just long enough to retreat to the bedroom. With an intentionally excruciating slowness, Ranger pulled my shirt over my head. The tips of his fingers left trails of fire along my skin. Tossing my shirt aside, he kissed the tops of my breasts softly before removing my bra. I moaned, fingers digging into his shoulder as his mouth returned to my now bare mounds of flesh. Electricity pulsed under my skin, a tremendous ache building between my legs.

Leaving me panting, Ranger stepped away to tug off his shirt. I immediately closed the gap, running my hands along his chiseled chest, tracing the valleys made by his muscles. He groaned softly, a deep sound in the back of his throat, as I carefully ran my fingers around to his back, avoiding his still-healing injuries. Trailing down to his waistband, I unbuttoned his pants and lowered his fly, pushing his black cargo pants and boxers to his ankles. He returned the favor, then pulled me against him as his lips crashed down on mine. I felt his erection pressing into my abdomen, further accelerating my heart rate.

He guided me onto the mattress, lips barely leaving mine on the way down. I lifted my hips, eagerly meeting him as he pressed between my legs. A deep sigh of relief escaped as he sank into me. Ranger rested his forehead against mine, locking our eyes as he began to slowly pump his hips. Caressing my shoulders, his hands trailed down my arms, gently lifting my wrists and raising my arms above my head. His fingers intertwined with mine, pressing the backs of my knuckles into the mattress. The action felt both romantic and possessive, sending a new thrill through my core.

Our bodies moved, building a rhythm together without either one of us needing to utter a word. A thin sheen of sweat covered us both, my breaths coming in pants as Ranger drove me into a state of complete nirvana. His name rang on my lips like a prayer as I shuddered beneath him. A few seconds letter, he found his own release.

"Stephanie!" The way he growled my name sent shivers skittering along my skin. "My Stephanie."

I gasped at the fervency in his voice, chasing the doubt from my mind. Just as I trusted Ranger with my life, I knew I could trust him with my heart.

* * *

No surprise, I found Ranger's side of the bed empty and cold by the time I woke up. I could hear him speaking on the phone from his office. I dragged myself into the bathroom for a shower, then made myself presentable for the day. Ranger waited for me in the kitchen by the time I emerged.

"I have info on GNRTech," he said, halting my search for something delicious and unhealthy for breakfast.

"I'm listening," I replied, straightening up from my inspection of his cereal selection. Nothing contained any artificial colors, dyes, or sugars and therefore looked to be more suitable to feed a pet rabbit than me.

"Greenridge is part owner of GNRTech."

I felt my mouth drop open. "Wait, isn't that like a huge conflict of interest? The city council approves which buildings the city will buy to demolish."

Ranger nodded. "Which is why it took extensive digging for my guy to even locate that information. Greenridge certainly doesn't want it to be public knowledge. Based on the sales records, he's voting for the city to purchase the buildings for considerably more than he's paying for them, earning himself a hefty profit."

"Greenridge's secretary told me that Fortecelli came with an entire envelope full of paperwork for his appointment with Greenridge. What if he managed to discover the same thing? He disappeared the next day. What if he tried to blackmail Greenridge into pulling strings to reduce his charges, and Greenridge simply had him killed?"

Ranger stayed silent, giving me a hard look.

"You think I'm crazy?" I offered, reading his silence.

"No," he replied. "I think Fortecelli might have inadvertently stumbled on a huge skeleton in Greenridge's closet. And now so have you. I'm worried you'll meet the same fate."

"Except I'm not stupid enough to try to blackmail Greenridge and show my hand."

"Someone followed us last night, Babe."

"You don't think it was Rossi?"

Ranger shrugged. "I don't know. That's the problem."

"You worry too much." He and Morelli had that in common. They just had polar opposite ways of dealing with it.

Ranger pulled me against him. "You don't worry enough," he replied, piercing me with his dark eyes. He leaned down to give me a smoldering kiss, sucking my bottom lip as he pulled back. "Please be careful today."

I shook my head slightly to restart my brain after the kiss. "I assume I still have a shadow?"

Ranger nodded, with just a hint of a smile. "Scott seems very eager to redeem himself."

Great. Just what I needed. A puppy looking for a "good boy" pat on his head at the end of the day.

"Here," Ranger added, dangling a Chevy key fob from his index finger.

"I can take my truck?" I asked excitedly. A second later, a tense knot in the pit of my stomach replaced the glee. "Wait, what about the condition you put on buying it?"

Ranger smiled slowly, reminding me suddenly of a cat playing with a mouse. "I expect payment in full within thirty days."

Swallowing the huge lump in my throat, I managed to squeak, "But there are cameras in your garage."

"I'm sure we can find a more private location," he replied, his voice low. "Keep your eyes peeled." With that, Ranger reached around me to grab an orange from the bowl on the counter and sauntered back to his office.

I stood in the kitchen for a few more seconds, trying to puzzle out if he meant I should keep my eyes peeled for danger or for a private boinking spot. Or both. Shaking the idea from my head, I decided to get breakfast from a drive through and made my way to the Rangeman garage.


	27. Chapter 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

Scott could have read my license plate in Braille, he followed so close behind the truck. Every time I put on my brakes, I worried he might accidently rear-end me. I liked my new truck. I really didn't want any harm to come to it on my first day behind the wheel. Lula and Connie were already inside the bonds office when I pulled up. I walked in, toting a McDonalds bag.

Vinnie immediately stuck his head out of his office. I held up a hand before he could speak. "If you're going to harp on Fortecelli, don't bother. He's dead." Three sets of eyes swiveled in my direction. I held my hands up innocently. "Don't look at me that way. I didn't kill him."

"You got a body receipt?" Vinnie demanded.

That man only ever thought about money. I shook my head. "Sorry. I don't actually know where his body happens to be."

"Do I want to know, then, how you know he's dead?" Connie asked.

I filled them in on a shortened version of last night's events. Conveniently leaving out everything about my hideous breakup with Morelli and my new relationship status with Ranger.

"Well, you'd better drag in the rest of the skips if you plan on keeping your job," Vinnie threatened as he slammed his office door. I just rolled my eyes after him.

"So, who's first today?" Lula inquired as I sunk into the couch and fished out my breakfast sandwich and hash browns.

"I want to revisit Thompson," I replied between bites. "Same plan as last time, except hopefully they've reinforced his stairs now."

Lula climbed into the passenger seat of my truck and soon we were rolling toward Clay Thompson's apartment. I idled at the curb across the street from the derelict Victorian house. Scott sat in his SUV a couple cars behind me. Clearly, the repairmen had given up on fixing the rotting wood steps. Instead, they'd replaced the entire staircase with a set of metal steps that made me wonder which building in Trenton now missed its fire escape. I didn't look forward to attempting to guide a cuffed, possibly stunned, Thompson down the narrow path.

I reached into my purse and grabbed my stun gun, which I jammed into my coat pocket. Lula elbowed me just as I finished pocketing a set of flexi-cuffs, along with a set of metal cuffs, just in case.

"There's Thompson," she exclaimed.

I followed her point. Thompson lumbered down the metal steps, toting a bag of garbage. If I could cuff him on solid ground, it would make my life so much easier.

"Let's roll," I told her, hopping out of the truck before Lula could even get her seatbelt off. I sprinted across the road. Thompson had his back to me as he deposited his garbage onto the heap under the steps. Grabbing my stun gun, I prepared to zap him, but he turned just before I reached him.

With a roar like a wounded bear, Thompson's eyes grew wide and he swiped at me. My stun gun flew through the air in a high arc, landing ten feet away. I scrambled for my flexi-cuffs, but Thompson intercepted my arms, trying to grab my wrists. I slid away, however, by slipping out of my coat. We both lunged for the fallen stun gun at the same time. Thompson reached it first, but I took the opportunity to literally jump on his back. Wrenching the metal cuffs out of my back jeans pocket, I tried to snap a bracelet around his wrist, but missed as he bucked me off.

My head bounced off the frozen ground, leaving me momentarily seeing stars. I felt the handcuffs get pulled from my grip, and suddenly cold steel circled my left wrist. Thompson yanked me to my feet, dragging me toward the stairs to his apartment. Reaching up, he snapped the other end of the cuffs through a metal rung on the steps, stretching my left arm high above my head and forcing me to move onto my tip toes to keep from dislocating my shoulder.

"Dumb bitch," he growled at me before stomping up the stairs and slamming his apartment door behind him.

I blinked in surprise at my sudden predicament. The entire incident took thirty seconds tops. Lula loped across the front yard, eyes wide over what she'd just witnessed. Scott appeared only a few steps behind her, looking equally surprised.

"Get me down, please," I said to them. My toes began to cramp and shoulder ache. Not to mention, the air temperature hovered around twenty and my coat lay a few feet away on the ground.

"Where are the handcuff keys?" Scott asked calmly.

I thought for a second. "In my bag, I think." Honestly, I couldn't be sure. Usually when I brought in a skip in metal cuffs, the cops just used their keys to transfer custody.

Lula retrieved the truck key from my coat pocket and soon returned with my bag. She pawed through it for a minute or two, before dumping it all out on the ground.

"Seriously?" I asked as several tampons rolled along the ground. Scott blushed, looking away.

"Do you want down or not?" Lula shot back, sorting through the pile of junk in search of the handcuff keys. A few minutes later, the last item found its way back into my bag and Lula gave me an apologetic shrug. "They're not here, Steph."

Shit. I looked at Scott. "Please tell me you have a set of universal cuff keys?" I asked, my breath misting as I shivered.

"The SUV is only stocked with flexi-cuffs. I could call back to the office and see if they have any there."

I really didn't need all of Rangeman hearing about my latest debacle. "Just call Ranger directly," I sighed.

Scott pulled out his cell and made the call. While he explained my situation to Ranger, Lula eased my coat over my right arm and attempted to drape it over my left shoulder to keep me from freezing before rescue came. Then she located a few broken boards left over from the wooden steps and shoved them under my feet, taking the stress off my toes.

By the time Ranger pulled up, my left arm had gone completely numb. He ambled over, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the scene. Although his expression stayed serious, I knew him well enough to catch the amusement threatening to break through at any second. It wasn't the first time I'd had to call him to release me from a precarious position involving handcuffs. At least I remained clothed this time.

Gently, Ranger freed my left hand. The limb fell heavily to my side. I groaned as pins and needles immediately prickled along my skin as the blood flow returned. I shook the appendage, trying to hurry along the process. Suddenly, two gold glints sparkled as they flew through the air. I stopped shaking my arm, completely stunned by the sight of the fake wedding rings laying on the ground. Looking at my left hand, I hand to blink a few times before I accepted what I saw. The rings were finally off.

Ranger scooped the jewelry off the ground, then offered them to me. "Would you like them as a memento?" he asked, lips curled in a half smile.

I shook my head and Ranger pocketed them.

"Your skip live up there?" Ranger asked, pointing to the door at the top of the metal stairs.

I nodded and Ranger clomped up the steps, motioning for Scott to follow him. Lula and I huddled a few feet away from the base of the stairs, our eyes focused on the landing. Ranger pounded on Thompson's door. A minute later, the door opened, Thompson clearly expecting to see me as he grumbled, "back for more, stupid bitch?"

Ranger barely seemed to move. Perhaps a slow motion camera might reveal exactly what he did. With a yelp, Thompson suddenly face planted. Ranger had him cuffed within seconds, then he and Scott hauled Thompson to his feet.

Thompson looked down the steps, glaring at me. "Fucking bitch! That's not fighting fair."

Ranger wrenched Thompson's arms painfully, making the man squeal. "Call my girlfriend a bitch one more time and you'll descend these steps over the railing."

Thompson whimpered into submission as Scott and Ranger led him down to solid ground.

"Girlfriend?" Lula squeaked, her wide eyes turned on me.

I squirmed under her look. "I better get the truck door open for them," I dodged, hurrying away to hold the truck door open while Ranger and Scott hoisted Thompson into the backseat and belted him in.

"If I learn you put one scratch on the interior of this truck, or give her anything other than your full and complete cooperation when you arrive at the station, I promise you'll be begging them to let you stay in prison compared to what I'll be waiting to do to you out here." Ranger delivered the warning to Thompson in a quiet, yet terrifying, tone.

Thompson nodded his head numbly as Ranger shut the truck door. I crossed my arms and fixed Ranger with a hard stare. "You're supposed to be doing nothing but resting for another week," I chided him. "And then only light duty assignments for the two weeks following."

Ranger shrugged. "That was just a little rehabilitation exercise. Stretching my muscles out again before I attempt anything truly difficult."

I rolled my eyes so hard I gave myself a headache. "Oh please. You are such a show off!"

That earned me half a smile. "Scott will follow you to the station. I'm going home to rest." I snorted. Like hell that's how he planned to spend the rest of his morning. "Be careful," he added, his voice growing soft. He pulled me into him for a long kiss, which despite the cold and audience, still set my blood on fire.

I climbed behind the wheel of my truck, Lula already waiting in the passenger seat. "Girlfriend?" she asked again.

Pretending I didn't hear her, I drove the familiar route to Trenton P.D.

"Girlfriend?" Lula practically shouted it this time.

"So Ranger and I are dating now. What's the big deal?" I finally sighed.

Lula looked as though I'd just asked her why oxygen mattered. "Because Mr. Tall, Dark and Can't Commit doesn't date. And what about Morelli?"

"Morelli and I broke up after Thanksgiving," I reminded her. There was no way I intended to talk about last night.

"Yeah, but you two do that all the time. You always get back together."

"Well, not this time," I shot back in a tone I hoped would end the conversation.

"If you're going to keep talking about all this emotional girl shit, please, just put a bullet in my head," Thompson grumbled from behind me.

"Careful," Lula warned, "or I'll sic Stephanie's boyfriend on you."


	28. Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

The moment Lula and I reentered the bonds office, she blurted, "Steph and Ranger are dating!"

Connie jumped, spilling the open bottle of blood red nail polish she'd been applying all over her desk. Ignoring the mess as it pooled across her paperwork, she stared at me agape. I took out my body receipt for Thompson and placed it carefully on the far corner of her desk. "Clay Thompson is back in custody. Check please."

Connie barely moved. "I swear I just heard Lula say you and Ranger are dating."

"We are. Check please."

Finally seeming to notice the red nail lacquer creeping across her desk, Connie cursed and grabbed a roll of paper towels to begin sopping up the spill. Still, her eyes barely left me.

"I thought Ranger didn't date. He doesn't do the relationship thing," she said.

I shrugged. "He's changed his mind."

Connie finished cleaning up the nail polish, filling her desk trash can with soiled towels. Then she slid the check registry across her desk, along with my body receipt.

"He must really have it bad for you," Connie added as she handed me my cut of the bond.

I offered only a noncommittal shrug in reply. Both Connie and Lula had known for quite some time about my feelings for Ranger, but neither realized I'd long known he loved me in return.

Saved by my cell phone, I glanced down at an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

"Hello?"

"Stephanie? This is Andrea Grayson."

My eyes widened slightly. "Hi Andrea."

"I thought you should know I saw Frankie at his house this morning."

"Is he still there?"

"I'm not sure. I had to get the kids ready for school, so he might have left when I wasn't watching."

"Ok. If you see him, don't approach him. He might be dangerous. I'm on my way."

"After you check on Frankie's house, do you want to come over for tea? I know I probably sound like a nut, but other than Frankie, I don't have a lot of people I can talk to about Mason."

"Sure," I replied, swallowing a lump in my throat. I felt bad for Andrea. I couldn't imagine being responsible enough to take care of a child, never mind a child as sick as Mason. If a cup of tea helped her feel better, I could oblige.

I excused myself and left the office. I gave Scott a quick run down of my plans, then drove toward Chestnut Street, Scott tailing me in his black SUV. I didn't see any cars in front of Frankie Rossi's house, so I had a feeling I'd missed him already, but I got out anyway. Scott followed me to the door, where I knocked. No one answered and the door remained locked. I looked through the living room window. Nothing had moved since yesterday. I briefly considered breaking in, but my gut told me Frankie wasn't here, so I decided to avoid the risk. If Morelli forwarded the intel I'd given him last night, the place could start crawling with cops anytime.

"I'm going to have a cup of tea with Andrea Grayson," I told Scott, pointing to Andrea's house. "Call me if Frankie comes back."

Scott got back in his SUV and I crossed Chestnut street and knocked on Andrea's door. She answered and invited me inside.

"How's Mason today?" I asked. I could hear the trickle of children's programming from the living room.

"Excellent. He had a bite of cake last night and again this morning. So far, so good." She led me to the dining room. Three tea cups sat on the cloth covered table.

"Don't freak out," Andrea warned as Frankie Rossi walked into the dining room.

I started to back out into the hallway, my hand moving to my cell phone.

Rossi put his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "Please, I just need to talk to you."

I narrowed my eyes at him. He didn't appear to have any weapons. "Maybe you should have tried doing that before you set my car on fire and then tried to kill me in an apartment fire."

Andrea gasped. "You tried to kill her?"

"I didn't try to kill her," Frankie replied. "I'm not responsible for the apartment fire, I swear."

"What about my Jeep?" I asked

"I admit, setting fire to your Jeep was an over-reaction. I just wanted to scare you off of George's case. I made sure no one was in your car, or the cars next to it. I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

"You set her Jeep on fire!"

Frankie sighed. "Andrea, if you're going to freak out over the Jeep, you might as well go watch TV with Mason. It only gets worse."

Andrea seemed to consider the offer. "That might be best." She turned to me. "I'm really sorry I tricked you, but Frankie needs your help and he knew he would never get close enough to talk to you anywhere else. Please, just hear him out."

She took her cup of tea and left the dining room. Frankie sat down and sipped at his tea. I remained standing.

"Your tea is getting cold," he remarked after a few seconds of silence.

I didn't move.

"Your loss," he said with a shrug.

"You need my help?" I finally asked.

"Yes. Andrea called me last night to tell me you'd been in my house, and to tell me that you'd brought Mason cake. I suppose, by this point, you know George is dead?"

"Yes, and if I were you, I'd be out of the country by now."

Frankie shook his head. "I want justice for George. That's why I need your help. I have information that ties Councilman Greenridge to George's murder, and to a drug ring."

"You need to give this information to the police. They can put you in protective custody."

Rossi shook his head. "Greenridge has connections everywhere. It wouldn't take long for him to learn where I was and send someone to make sure I disappear, along with any evidence left with the police."

"I'm not sure how you think I can help you?"

"I need protective custody, without the cops involved."

It finally clicked in my head. "You want me to get Ranger to protect you?"

"Yes. If you get him to put me somewhere secret and safe, I'll talk to the authorities."

"You're going to have to admit to your participation in growing and distributing the pot."

"I know, but I figure I can broker a deal. Immunity for testifying against Greenridge."

"What do you have on Greenridge that's worth that much? I know about his holding company that's selling the condemned properties to the city and lining his pocket. But I don't think that's going to earn you immunity."

"It goes way beyond that," Rossie replied, lowering his voice so I had to learn forward to hear him. "Did you ever wonder why it takes the city so long to demo those buildings after it purchases them?"

"Lack of funds?"

"No. Greenridge is doing more than just lining his pockets off the sales. He's lining his pockets off the drugs being sold in the buildings. He owns a bunch of warehouses down by the river, and he brings the drugs in through them. His dealers push the drugs out of the condemned buildings. He's got eyes and ears in the police department, so whenever a call comes in from a concerned neighbor, he tips off the dealers and everyone scrams before the cops arrive. On the off chance a dealer gets nabbed, he pulls some strings in the judicial system to get them off. And if he thinks a dealer is stiffing him, they disappear. There's always a new dealer waiting to step in."

"And you have proof?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"That's why I need to be in protective custody."

"Let's start at the beginning," I suggested, finally sitting down. "You and George get into the street pharmaceutical business, and then you just stumble across Greenridge and his involvement?"

"Sort of. George came to me almost four years ago with an idea. The medical marijuana thing really took off, but a lot of the people who really needed it couldn't afford to buy it legally. And the stuff they sold on the street was always of questionable quality, not to mention that the dealers would try to upsell you to heroin or meth. Folks who just wanted to smoke some weed were getting turned into hard core addicts. So, George proposed we start selling pot. He could grow good organic stuff on his property in the Poconos. He knew I'd always liked to bake, so he figured I could make high quality edibles. It took a year to clear the land and build the infrastructure, then another six months to get a harvestable stock. We started off small, selling to the folks just looking for a high, and pretty soon we became known for having quality stuff. And since we only sold pot, people knew we wouldn't try to hook them on something nasty. Business boomed, and we decided we could afford to start giving it away to folks who really needed it."

"There was a dark side to success, wasn't there? You stepped on some of the other dealer's toes?"

"Yes. We knew to stay out of the neighborhoods controlled by the gangs. We didn't know about Greenridge's drug ring, though. About a year and a half ago, the intimidation started, but George wasn't going to take it. The dealer who'd threatened us sold out of an abandoned and condemned building, so George burnt it to the ground one night.

"We thought that had made an impression, but then the fires started at CampTech. George didn't want to endanger the company or his coworkers, so he quit. And he started digging. We knew most of the buildings where the dealers operated, so George figured out they were all originally owned by the same holding company before being sold to the city. He started trying to figure out why these buildings weren't demolished when others were, and pretty soon it became clear that Marcus Greenridge was involved somehow. He'd voted yes to demolish plenty of buildings, except for the ones with the drug activity sold by this holding company. He'd always vote no on those and provide some flimsy explanation about a sudden lack of money."

"That's only circumstantial," I commented.

"We decided money talks. So we bribed one of the dealers into giving us information. He explained that he got his drugs from a warehouse on the river, so we staked it out. We found a bunch of goons, so we followed the guy who seemed to be the leader. He eventually led us back to Greenridge. We got photos of their meeting."

"So George decided to keep burning down buildings?" I asked.

"Yes. And he was good at not getting caught, until he got drunk and burned down the place on Boulder Street. Greenridge pulled some strings and suddenly George has a hundred thousand dollar bond. I think Greenridge knew we must be growing the pot somewhere and we'd have to put the land up to get George out."

"You said you had photos. I don't suppose George tried to blackmail Greenridge with them?"

"I tried to talk him out of it," Frankie replied. "But George figured Greenridge might be willing to call a truce."

"I'll go out on a limb here and say that didn't go over well."

"Clearly. George disappeared the next day, and I knew he was dead well before I got the e-mail."

"What about the photos? Did they disappear with George too?"

"No. George gave me copies." Frankie reached into his pocket and retrieved a plain white envelope. He pulled out three photos and slid them toward me.

I snatched them off the table and looked at them. They showed Marcus Greenridge talking with a tall, bald Latino man. The third photograph showed them shaking hands. I slid the photographs back to Frankie. "These don't prove anything. Greenridge could give a thousand different reasons to meet this man."

"I know, but they might be enough to start an investigation. Greenridge has a lot of power locally, but I doubt he's got connections in the DEA. They might be interested in this."

"Okay, let me get this straight. You want me to help get you into a Rangeman safe house and broker a meeting between you and the DEA?"

"Yeah."

I sighed. "I don't think the safe house will be a problem, but I'm probably going to need some time to convince the DEA to take me seriously." Plus, I'd just burned my bridge with Morelli, who otherwise would have been my in with the DEA. "How can I contact you?"

Rossi slid a piece of paper across the table with a phone number scribbled on it. "This will be my number for the next twenty-four hours. I'll leave Andrea's house right after you. I've already put her in enough danger."

I took the paper and immediately programmed the number into my cell phone. "Before I leave, can I take photos of those photos?" I asked. "Ranger might be able to track down the guy Greenridge was talking to, and if he can corroborate your story, that's all the more evidence against Greenridge."

"Yeah, okay," Rossi replied, sliding the photos back to me. I took several pictures with my cell phone, hoping they were clear enough to get a positive ID. On a whim, I uploaded them to my Google Drive account and shared them to Ranger's e-mail, including a message that told him I'd explain as soon as I saw him.

"I'll call you with a time and place to meet about the safe house," I told Frankie as I stood up, my tea still untouched. It might take a little time to convince Ranger to actually help Rossi, especially since he did admit to torching the Jeep.

Leaving Andrea's house, I tried to maintain a calm demeaner. No need to worry Scott, who might alert Ranger. Instead, I informed Scott I intended to go to the bank, grab lunch, then head back to Rangeman. I needed to cash my check from Thompson's capture anyway. And while Ella would likely provide a very healthy lunch, after talking to Frankie I needed something deep fried. And time to consider how to approach Ranger on the matter.

Everyone on their lunch break appeared to be at the bank. The line for the drive through teller wrapped around the building, so I parked and went inside. A single frazzled teller attended to a woman my grandmother's age with a bag full of unwrapped pennies she wanted to deposit. Behind her, five persons in differing stages of aggravation waited. Sighing, I took the sixth spot in line.

Forty minutes later, with my checking account no longer in immediate danger of being overdrawn, I pulled into Cluck-In-A-Bucket.

"Want anything?" I asked Scott, who parked beside me.

He gave me a look that fell somewhere between concerned and terrified. "No thank you," he finally replied.

I laughed as I walked inside the restaurant. Scott had good reason to be wary, but I doubted Cluck-In-A-Bucket put cannabis in their fried chicken. Sometimes I wondered if their fried chicken even contained real chicken.

As I ate, I mulled over how to bring up my conversation with Frankie Rossi to Ranger. Poor Scott. No matter how I thought to spin it, he'd likely get reamed out by Ranger for allowing Frankie to get near me. Licking salt and grease off my fingers, I threw away my trash and walked outside. Scott rolled down the passenger window as I approached my truck.

"Steph, be careful driving back to the office. I've seen the same black van drive past four times since you went in for lunch. When you leave, make sure I have room to pull out directly behind you." I detected real worry in Scott's voice.

Pulling out of Cluck-In-A-Bucket's lot, I waited until traffic thinned so Scott could pull out right behind me. The entire way back to Rangeman, I constantly checked my rear view and side mirrors, watching for the ambiguous black van. It could be nothing, but after someone followed Ranger and I last night, I knew I couldn't brush it off as coincidence.

We made it back to Rangeman without incident, or any further sightings of the black van. I immediately felt safe as I pulled into my parking stall, knowing the security gate and a plethora of security cameras made this the safest parking lot in the city.

"I probably won't be going out again this afternoon," I told Scott. "And if I do, it'll likely be with Ranger. So consider your watch ended."

He gave me a cocky salute, something none of the men would ever dream of doing to Ranger. We rode the elevator together. Scott got off on the fifth floor, location of the control room and employee break room, well stocked with healthy food courtesy of Ella. I continued on to the seventh floor alone.

I unlocked the apartment door, stepped inside, and stopped dead. Ranger stood in the foyer with a woman I'd never seen before. She easily stood three inches taller than me, slim, blonde and wearing a skimpy cocktail dress and fuck-me heels. Ranger's hand rested inside the front of her dress.


	29. Chapter 29

TWENTY-NINE

It took a few seconds for me to comprehend the sight before me. Ranger with his hands all over another woman. I flashbacked to the day I'd returned home to find my then husband, Dickie Orr, getting ridden by Joyce Burnhart on my dining room table.

"So much for commitment! I guess Morelli was right," I spit, spinning around and storming out, letting the door slam behind me. I rushed toward the elevator, which mercifully still waited at this floor. I heard the apartment door open and my name called, but I ignored it.

I stepped into the elevator and mashed the door close button. Ranger made it half way to me before elevator doors slid shut. It took me straight to the parking garage. I jumped into my truck and cranked the engine, reversing out of my spot and throwing it into drive before I'd fully stopped. I stepped on the gas, the engine revving as I raced out the underground garage and careened around the corner onto the empty street.

Ranger burst out a side door, saw my truck, and stepped into the road. "Stephanie, stop!"

For half a second, I considered running his ass over. Then I applied the brake. The tires screeched as the truck lurched to a stop, barely a foot from Ranger, who held his ground.

He gave me a dark look. "Tell me you didn't just consider hitting me with the truck I bought you."

"You would have deserved it," I shouted back at him through the windshield, hysterical tears clouding my vision.

"Jesus, Steph, she's one of my employees." He still stood in the road, preventing my escape.

I saw red. "And that makes it okay!"

"I was fitting her with a wire. She got called out on a job with no one left on shift who knew how to set it up."

The anger faded slightly. I put the truck in park, but left it running as I opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement.

"That's it?" I narrowed my eyes at him distrustfully. "You were fitting her with a wire?"

"I promise you, it was entirely business."

"It's hard to believe she thought it was all business." I'd worn plenty of wires on Rangeman jobs, and I'd never felt it was 'just business' when Ranger put his hands on me.

Ranger rolled his eyes. "I'm not her type."

I rolled my eyes back. "A woman would have to be dead not to get ideas with your hand down her dress."

"Trust me on this, I'm not her type. She would have preferred your hand down the front of her dress."

It took me a few seconds to get his meaning, then I blinked in surprise. "She's a lesbian?"

Ranger nodded.

We both heard screeching tires and turned our heads toward the noise at the same time. A big, black windowless van skidded around the corner. The sliding door flew open before the van fully stopped and four men wearing ski masks jumped out.

Ranger reached for the gun on his hip and I saw panic register on his face when he realized there was no gun on his hip. He'd run out of his apartment after me without one.

"Steph, run!"

Two of the men rushed me as I turned back toward the Rangeman building. I didn't even clear the end of the truck bed when I felt someone grab me. Screaming, I kicked backwards, feeling my foot connect with something. Following a grunt, the hands released me for a second. I spun, but another set of hands pinned my arms to my sides painfully. A rag pressed against my nose and mouth and I could smell chloroform with the first breath I took. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ranger trying to fight off the two other goons. He landed a hard punch to the side of one guy's head, sending him reeling. Darkness crept into the edges of my vision. The other guy grabbed a hunk of metal pipe from the van and swung it at Ranger's head. I screamed into the rag as Ranger fell, then I succumbed to blackness.

I came to in a dimly lit space. It took a few seconds for my grogginess to wear off, and with a gasp I recalled the last few seconds of consciousness. Trying not to panic, I took stock of my situation. My hands were bound behind my back. I pulled against the bindings, fairly certain it was a pair of flexi-cuffs. A gag covered my mouth, but my feet were unhindered. I lay on my side on a pile of cardboard, with Ranger a few feet away. He faced away from me, positioned on his right side. Flexi-cuffs bound his hands. Blood pooled around his head from a large gash above his left temple.

Getting to my knees, I scooted over to him, praying to whatever entity listening for him not to be dead. When I got close, I watched his chest rise and fall with steady breaths, sending a wave of relief through my body. A gag also covered his mouth. I nudged Ranger with my knee, but he didn't wake. I nudged him harder. Still no response.

I looked over Ranger and saw a third person: Frankie Rossi. He lay on his back, his hands unrestrained at his sides and a large bullet hole between his eyes. A shocked expression remained etched on his face. From the lack of blood, I surmised he'd been killed elsewhere and dumped here.

The stench of smoke reached my nostrils. I looked around and found we were in a large warehouse. The corrugated metal walls rose at least three stories to a metal roof. A few grimy windows near the roof allowed broken rays of late afternoon sunlight into the structure. Stacks of empty wooden pallets balanced precariously against the wall nearest to us. More pallets littered the concrete floor, along with empty wooden crates and cardboard boxes. Fire consumed a huge stack near the center of the warehouse, flames shooting nearly to the ceiling.

A few pieces of burning wood slid off the stack, bumping into a cardboard box a few feet away, spreading flames toward us. I looked at the floor. We might as well be sitting in the middle of a nest of kindling.

Struggling to my feet, I ran toward the warehouse exit, a huge metal door set on a sliding rail. I pushed against it with my shoulder, it slid a few inches then stopped. I pushed against it again, hearing the clank of metal rattling outside as the door moved. Someone had chained the door shut. We were trapped like rats.

I ran back to Ranger and tried to rouse him again. He groaned softly but didn't come to. The smoke grew thicker, causing my eyes to water and burn. I coughed into my gag, unable to call out for help.

Movement caught my attention and I watched a large rat scurry away from the smoke and flames, wiggling under the pile of pallets on the wall nearest us with a squeak. A few seconds later, two more rats followed suit.

Maybe we weren't trapped like rats. The rats could evidently get out. We were trapped like bound and gagged humans.

I staggered to the place where the rats had disappeared. I could feel a tiny cold breeze stir in the area. The pallets were stacked almost ten feet high, but very poorly. I nudged the pile with my shoulder and it swayed slightly. I backed up a few paces to get a running start and rammed the pallets, shoulder first. My momentum sent them and me tumbling with a huge crash. I groaned, rolling off the broken pieces of wood. I bled from a dozen little scratches and punctures.

I rushed back to the base of the stack and found the cold air seeping into the building through a gash in the corrugated metal siding where two pieces met. It was only about a foot wide and two feet tall, but quite big enough for a rat to escape. Not nearly big enough for a person.

I leaned against the opening, pushing against the rivets on the seam. The metal bent but didn't break. I needed something with more leverage, but for that I needed my hands.

Rusty and jagged edges decorated both sides of the opening. Tetanus seemed preferable to burning alive, so I crouched down and backed up to the wall. I pressed the flexi-cuffs against the metal and moved my arms up and down, trying to saw through the plastic. I slipped, crying out into the gag as I sliced my right hand. Taking a deep breath, I repositioned my hands and went back to a sawing motion. After a few long minutes, my hands suddenly sprung apart.

A deep cut marred the side of my right hand, blood dripping down my palm and fingers. I untied my gag then used the fabric to tightly wrap the slashed skin. The smoke became so thick I couldn't see Ranger anymore. I hurried in the right direction, almost tripping over him before I saw him.

I hooked my arms under his armpits and pulled. All lean muscle, Ranger weighed a ton. I huffed and puffed, coughing from the smoke as I dragged him toward the small opening in the metal siding. I laid him gently back on the concrete.

"Ranger, come on, wake up!" I shook him and he groaned, but didn't open his eyes. "Argh! You're no help at all," I told him.

I needed to widen the opening between the two pieces of corrugated metal somehow. I pulled an intact pallet off the pile. Despite its heavy weight, I still managed to carry it over to the opening. I wedged a corner of the wood into the opening and pressed down on the end I still held. Metal groaned and a few rivets popped. I pushed harder and the pallet crashed through the opening. Breathing hard, I pushed my end of the pallet toward the wall, causing the other end to push the left half of the siding inward, widening the gap enough to crawl through.

I wrestled the pallet the out of the way and grabbed Ranger, pulling him as close to the opening as I could. Then I wriggled through on my side, tearing my clothes on the jagged edges, but emerging on the other side relatively unscathed. Ranger, on the other hand, was a lot bigger than me.

"I'm really sorry," I told him as I reached back through the opening and dragged him out. The metal edges cut into his shoulders and back as I dragged him out, into a narrow alley between two warehouses. I dropped him onto the cold concrete, falling to my knees beside him. Another round of coughing shook my body as my lungs tried to clear out the smoke. Ranger groaned and opened his eyes.

"Oh sure, now you wake up. I could have used your help ten minutes ago," I grumbled as I untied his gag.

Ranger's eyes snapped open as he fully returned to consciousness, struggling against his restraints and coughing.

"We're safe," I told him. "You're in flexi-cuffs and I have no way to get them off."

I helped Ranger to his feet. We limped out of the alley and into a broad piece of macadam in front of a line of warehouses. Paranoid, I glanced around nervously, worried the people who'd trapped us inside might still be waiting to make sure the job was done. But there wasn't a soul in sight.

I sunk to the ground a safe distance from the burning building. Ranger collapsed next to me. A black plume of smoke poured out of a broken window near the top.

"Someone's gotta see that," I remarked hopefully. The alternative meant we escaped the fire only to freeze to death. I still had the rag they'd used to gag Ranger in my hands, so I gently pressed it against the gash on his head.

"How'd you get your hands free?" Ranger asked.

I explained everything that had happened inside the warehouse since I'd woken up. Ranger kissed me on the top of my head as I finished.

"I used to think I put you in danger just by associating with you, but you manage to scare up some Grade-A crazies all by yourself."

"Except I think this Grade-A crazy might be Marcus Greenridge." And I explained everything Frankie had shared with me.

"We don't have any proof other than Frankie's word," Ranger replied. "And Frankie's dead."

"So you don't believe him?"

"Oh, I believe him. The problem is there isn't enough evidence to put away Greenridge. I suspect Frankie spilled his guts before he got his brains blown out, and that means Greenridge thinks you are a loose end. When he finds out you didn't die in this fire, he's going to come after you again."

We grew silent as we heard sirens wail in the distance.

"How bad is my head?" Ranger asked.

I grimaced. "You're going to need stitches." I looked down at my right hand. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage. "So am I."

The first police officers on the scene were Costanza and his partner, Big Dog. Costanza looked at me, looked at the burning building, then said something into his radio. Morelli would receive a phone call in approximately thirty seconds.

Big Dog ambled over to us and cut the flexi-cuffs off Ranger. Costanza joined him shortly after.

"Before you even ask, I didn't start the fire." I told then. They listened quietly as I explained the situation, paling when I got to the part about the bullet between Frankie's eyes. Dead bodies in burning buildings made for a lot of extra paperwork.

Ranger and I sat side by side on the bench inside an ambulance when Morelli appeared. Ranger had a bandage wrapped around his head, and I had my hand dressed. The EMT's were waiting until the cops finished asking us questions before taking us to get stitched up.

Morelli shook his head when he saw us, leaning against the door of the ambulance. "I've heard a bunch of bits and pieces already, but run your story past me in the entirety."

I started with my meeting with Frankie this morning and went from there. Morelli had his face in his hand by the time I finished.

"It's like you're a magnet for this stuff," he finally said. "All Frankie had to do was keep his mouth shut, but he decides to spill his guts to you and now you're a target."

"He wanted my help," I protested. "He was scared. And I think Greenridge torched my apartment, so I was a target before."

"That's what I mean. You attract the charity cases and get dragged into their personal messes." Morelli pulled a roll of Rolaids out of his pocket and dumped a bunch into his mouth. "I'll see what I can get sorted out and meet you at the hospital. Don't leave until I get there." He told the EMTs they could take us and walked away. A few minutes later, the ambulance doors closed and we were on the way to the ER.


	30. Chapter 30

THIRTY

My hand felt pleasantly numb, all stitched up and freshly bandaged, when a frazzled nurse stuck her head through the curtain of our ER bay. "There's a Joe Morelli here. Says he's a cop and needs to speak with you both. He insists it can't wait."

"Let him in," I replied. Ranger sat to my left, a physician's assistant currently applying stitches to the wound on his temple. He'd point blank refused to leave me or get treated until my hand was taken care of. He had the fingers of his right hand intertwined with my left.

Morelli appeared a few minutes later, just as the PA finished up. He stood moodily in the corner of the bay and didn't say a word until the PA departed.

"It doesn't look like you have good news," I remarked.

"We questioned Marcus Greenridge. He has a rock solid alibi for the time of your abduction and the fire."

"Of course he does," said Ranger. "He used hired thugs to do the dirty work."

"Bingo. But that means we've got nothing on Greenridge. They found the pictures of George Fortecelli on Frankie's cloud account, but none of the photos give any hint as to who killed him. They look to have been taken on a river bank, so they're going to dredge the Delaware and hope they get lucky. The cyber unit is trying to trace the IP address or owner of the e-mail address the pictures came from, but it could take a while. They pulled Frankie's body out of the warehouse, and we'd be waiting on dental records for an I.D. if you hadn't told us who it was. It'll be weeks before the ME report comes out. Assuming there is anything left of the bullet, we might get a caliber and the ability to trace it to a murder weapon. Chances are, though, the gun belongs to one of the hired thugs, and not Greenridge."

"So what you're saying is, nothing is going to stick to this guy," I confirmed.

"We can't even arrest him, because there is nothing to charge him with. And as a councilman, he's got lots of connections: judges, politicians, and probably high ranking cops."

"He's going to keep going after Stephanie until he silences her permanently," Ranger put in darkly. "He knows Frankie talked to her and he knows she gave his name to the police. It doesn't matter that no charges will stick, he's going to want her out of the picture. Especially as his political campaign heats up."

Morelli nodded in agreement. "You need to be in protective custody," he told me. "The problem is, I don't know who I can trust in my own department not to sell you out to Greenridge."

"I have safe houses," Ranger said. "She can go to one of them."

"And do what?" I protested. "Hide away for the rest of my life in the witness protection program. I don't think so. And what about my parents? My sister? What if someone goes after them to try to get to me?"

"I'll have men watch their houses," Ranger replied.

Morelli stepped closer to us, dropping his voice. "You won't be safe as long as Greenridge is around." He locked eyes with Ranger and I swear the two communicated telepathically.

"I'll take care of everything," Ranger said softly. "Can I borrow your cell?" he asked Morelli, who handed his phone to Ranger.

Ranger called Tank and asked for a car and a burner phone. "And I need you to get safe house three ready and arrange to get Steph there. We're at St. Francis, but I don't want her picked up at the E.R. entrance. We need to make sure she doesn't get tailed." Ranger ended the call and handed the cell phone back to Morelli.

"Can you stay with her while I go meet Tank?" he asked Morelli.

"Sure."

"Wait, what's going on?" I demanded.

"I'll explain after I talk to Tank." Ranger slipped beyond the curtain.

I turned to Morelli. "What did Ranger mean when he said he'll take care of everything?"

"He's referring to the safe house."

"Liar." I had the uncomfortable notion Ranger and Morelli were plotting a hit on a city councilman.

Morelli popped a few more Rolaids into his mouth and sat down next to me. "Try not to think about it."

"Easier said than done."

"So, someone actually got the jump on Ranger," Morelli commented with a chuckle.

"It's not funny. I saw him get hit with the pipe and thought they'd killed him."

Morelli mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "would I be so lucky."

I elbowed him hard in the side and was rewarded with a yelp. "Be nice," I warned him.

"I'm trying," he replied. "I really am. Are you positive that you really want to try a relationship with him?"

"There's a Beyoncé song that fits this situation," I shot back. "If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it," I sang.

Morelli glowered. "I admit I've made some stupid mistakes, you don't have to remind me."

That gave me pause. "You think not marrying me was a stupid mistake?"

"Clearly. And the worst part is, I wanted to ask you so many times, but I either decided the time wasn't right, or we had a fight, or you said something that made me afraid you'd say no. I even have a damn ring."

"I can't believe you are only telling me this now!"

"Does it change anything?"

I sighed. "No."

Morelli reached out and gently turned my face toward his. I grew afraid he would kiss me, as I knew that violated the "no sharing" rule.

"I love you and I want you to be safe and happy. I'm man enough to say that if another man is what makes you happy, I'll let you go."

"And hope he screws up," I added dryly.

Morelli grinned. "That too. There's a steep learning curve involved with dating you. I have confidence he'll mess up sometime."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "And right there is where I stopped feeling sorry for you."

"I never claimed I'd mastered the learning curve."

"I thought you weren't going to accept me if I came crawling back?"

"You know I didn't mean that."

"You sounded like you meant it when you said it."

Morelli sighed. "I shouldn't have said it. I was upset. I'll take you back in a heartbeat. I'll take you back right now, if you want."

I gave him a small sad smile. "You should see other women. Find someone who doesn't give you heartburn." I wanted Morelli to be happy too.

"I think I'm a masochist, because I want you and your heartburn. Maybe someday that will change."

Ranger returned twenty minutes after he'd left, offering me his hand to help me off the bed.

"Hal and Bobby are waiting in a van outside a back exit. They are going to take you to a safe house," he said as I hopped down, putting his arm around my shoulder protectively.

"And what are you going to do?" I asked him.

"I have a business engagement."

I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to walk any farther. I had a good inkling of what he planned to do. "I don't like this. We don't know if Greenridge is truly involved. What if he's innocent?"

"What if he's not?" Ranger returned.

Ranger had killed to protect me before. I knew it and Morelli knew it. That didn't mean I liked it. I dropped my voice, "I don't want blood on my hands." Even though Greenridge seemed like a horrible specimen of humanity, I didn't need the guilt of his death on my conscience.

"It won't be on your hands," Ranger replied even softer.

I shook my head, putting my hands against Ranger's chest. "I don't want it on anyone's hands." During his time as Black Ops, the government expected Ranger to kill without question. I knew he carried scars from that time of his life, even though he never spoke about it. Sometimes it seemed too easy for him to fall back into that mindset. "Please. I'm serious. Promise me you'll try to find a way to get to Greenridge through the justice system first."

I felt, more than heard, Ranger sigh as he leaned his forehead against mine. His hands circled my waist gently. "It'll take longer your way," he warned. "And I make no guarantees. But I'll try. I promise."

Pushing myself onto the balls of my feet, I pressed my lips to his, my left hand reaching up to caress the side of his face. Morelli cleared his throat loudly behind us, drawing us apart.

Ranger and Morelli walked me through several back hallways of the hospital and out a small metal door. Hal and Bobby leaned against the outside of a white Ford Transit van, looking alert. They slid the door open as soon as they saw Ranger and I appear. A third seat looked like it had been welded into the cargo area of the van.

"You want me to ride in there?" I squeaked.

"I can't risk anyone seeing you through a window and telling Greenridge," Ranger replied.

"We brought you a tablet with a bunch of movies downloaded on it," Bobby added.

"Which movies?"

"Chick flicks. The Notebook, Pretty Woman, that sort of stuff," Bobby replied.

"Enough with the in-flight entertainment," said Ranger. "In you get."

"Ranger," I began but he silenced me with a look.

"I will come get you when it's safe. I hope that won't take too long." He pulled me against him for a brief kiss.

I climbed into the van, strapped myself into the seat, and Ranger slid the door closed behind me. Darkness descended instantly. I heard the passenger and driver's doors open and close and the van turn over with a grumble. A string of LED lights came on and I could see again. With a slight lurch, the van began to move.

Ranger had several safe houses in Trenton, but considering I'd been offered a tablet full of movies, I guessed my destination sat a bit further away. I flicked the tablet on and scrolled through the movies, finally settling on Notting Hill. When the credits rolled, I switched to Pretty Woman. Half way through Pride and Prejudice the van stopped and the engine finally cut off. The LED lights went out, leaving me only with the glow of the tablet screen. I heard Hal and Bobby get out, and a few seconds later the side door slid open.

I hopped out and looked around. The sun had set. We were parked in front of a small wood sided cabin with a lit porch light. A few bars of light escaped from behind a curtained window. Otherwise, darkness controlled the immediate vicinity. The door to the cabin opened and Tank's body filled the doorframe. Hal and Bobby hustled me inside.

The interior of the cabin reminded me of Deliverance. The rustic motif included mounted fish along the walls and a disturbing moose head above a cold brick fireplace and wooden mantle. Wide, lacquered wood boards covered the floors, with a carpet runner in the entrance and a large area rug in the living room. A few wooden columns broke up the otherwise open floor plan. We stood in a small foyer with a heavy wooden coat tree and wooden bench. A small kitchen appeared immediately ahead, containing a small refrigerator, two-burner stove, tiny sink, and microwave. Beyond the kitchen sat a dining and living area, with a round four-person table, sagging sofa with matching recliner, beat-up coffee table, and old tube style TV on a corner stand. Directly across from the front door, on the other side of the cabin, stood a back door. To my right, twin doors led to a tiny bathroom and bedroom. The sight of indoor plumbing provided some relief. It didn't escape the realm of possibility that Ranger might put me up in a place with an outhouse if it meant keeping me safe.

"It's cozy, right?" Tank asked hesitantly.

"I'm going to kill Ranger," I replied, causing Tank to grin.

"I brought up enough groceries for a few days," he added. "Ella grabbed you clothes and toiletries. You'll find the bag in the bedroom."

"I'm going to be here for a few days?" I tried to keep my voice from achieving a hysterical pitch.

"As long as it takes," Tank replied. Suddenly, I regretted taking the high road. Ranger's method might have me back home by sunset tomorrow. "Two guys will be up in the morning to relieve Hal and Bobby. If there is anything you need, have Hal or Bobby contact the command center." And with that, Tank left.

Hal and Bobby each grabbed a dining chair and dragged it to a door, taking up guard positions. I went into the bedroom and found the bag of clothes Ella had packed for me. I dug out a pair of jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, and clean underwear, then headed to the bathroom for a much needed shower. At least this hell hole had hot running water. After I got out, I quickly blew dry my hair and dressed, then went in search of food.

I opened a kitchen cabinet and found a bunch of canned goods: soup, boxed mac and cheese, peanut butter, and breakfast cereal. I opened the fridge next, finding milk, orange juice, lunchmeat, hotdogs, sliced cheese, butter, and condiments. A loaf of bread sat on the counter next to the fridge.

Pulling the butter and cheese out of the fridge, I grabbed two cans of condensed tomato soup from the cabinet. Locating pots and pans in the cabinets under the counter, I started the soup heating on the back burner of the stove. I set a fry pan on the front burner and started making grilled cheese sandwiches. Plating the sandwiches and ladling the soup into three bowls, I took Hal and Bobby theirs, which they ate at their respective posts. I ate at the dining room table.

I washed the dishes, then turned on the television. It got five channels: ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX and PBS. I watched some Wheel of Fortune followed by Jeopardy, then some crime dramas. At eleven I said goodnight to Hal and Bobby and closed the bedroom door. I changed and climbed into the full-sized bed and eventually managed to fall asleep.

The aroma of coffee greeted me when I woke. I found a terry cloth robe in the bedroom closet, pulled it on, and ventured back out into backwoods hell. Hal and Bobby still guarded the doors, but both had a steaming mug of coffee with them. I poured myself a cup, added milk and sugar, and gazed out the kitchen window. With the sun up, I could see just how remote this cabin was. Through the bare trees, I spotted a lake in the distance. Nothing else. I settled on the sofa and flicked on the television. A local morning news show aired, from which I deduced I was somewhere in northeastern Pennsylvania.


	31. Chapter 31

THIRTY-ONE

Three more days passed. I tried very hard not to panic or go mad from boredom. As the sun set, I heard tires crunching on gravel and immediately peeked out a window. My heart skipped a few beats when I saw my pickup truck pull to a stop in front of the cabin and Ranger climb out.

Clinging to some modicum of dignity, I refused to allow my feet to rush me out the door and into Ranger's arms. Instead, I walked calmly into the bathroom, tossing my few articles of toiletries back into a black bag and zipping it up. Then I gathered my clothes from the bedroom, practically running into Ranger's chest as I turned around to exit.

"Ready to go, I see," he quipped. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his beard grew two days past five o'clock shadow territory. It reminded me eerily of how he'd looked in the ICU.

"Is Greenridge in jail?" I asked, heart thumping as the words left my mouth.

Ranger stood motionless for a second, then shook his head. "He was found this afternoon, dead in his car from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He took the coward's way out."

I locked eyes with Ranger. "Self-inflicted?"

"Yes," Ranger replied, his gaze unwavering. "I told you I would try your way first. And I kept that promise. I tracked down the man in the photos Rossi gave you. That took the better part of two days. Once I turned him over to Morelli, things snowballed. Didn't take long for Morelli to crack him," something close to admiration crept into Ranger's voice. "And not only did he implicate Greenridge in the drug ring, but a bunch of cops, including Lucas. He also confessed to nailing your window shut, setting your apartment fire, and arranging to ambush us and destroy our bodies in a warehouse fire, all on Greenridge's orders."

"Morelli told you this?"

Ranger shook his head. "Someone hacked into the PD's system and downloaded the video of the interrogation, then leaked it to the press."

"Someone?" I repeated, my eyebrows creeping toward my hairline.

A half smile turned up the corners of Ranger's lips. "Someone," he repeated back. "And once the media had it, well, it went viral. When the cops turned up at Greenridge's house to bring him in for questioning today, they found him slumped over behind the wheel."

"Conveniently dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound," I finished.

"You don't believe me?" Ranger's brow furrowed as he asked the question.

I opened my mouth to tell him I did, but closed it without any sound escaping. I wanted to believe Ranger, but a small amount of doubt lingered. It would always linger. It seemed I'd gotten snarled in his complicated past as much as him. "It doesn't matter," I finally said. "With Greenridge gone, you can take me out of this hillbilly hell."

"It matters to me, Babe. When I give you my word on something, I mean it. You doubted my commitment at the first opportunity you got. And now you doubt me about this. This isn't going to work if you can't trust me."

"I do trust you!" I returned. "I trust you with my life all the time. And I trusted you to keep my family safe these past few days."

"But you don't trust that I'm telling you the truth."

I sighed, not wanting to get into an argument with Ranger within hearing distance of his employees. "I want to. I'm trying to, but trust takes time."

"What can I do to speed up the process?"

"It'll come with time," I reiterated with a small smile. "Just the fact you care about building trust helps." Reaching up, I caressed the side of his face, fingers playing over the coarse stubble of his beard. I flushed lightly as I considered how his rough face might feel on other, more sensitive, parts of my body.

"I don't know what just crossed your mind," Ranger remarked with a slow smile, suddenly pulling me against him, "but I think I'd like to find out."

"Take me home and I might just tell you," I teased, dodging a kiss.

"Hmmm," he murmured into my neck. "I'm not sure I want to wait that long. Stay here," he ordered, peeling himself away and leaving the bedroom. I heard him dismiss his men, letting them know he'd lock up and escort me home after I finished packing. An engine caught outside, leaving Ranger and I completely alone in the middle of nowhere.

Ranger stalked back into the bedroom, a feral glow behind his dark eyes. His expression sent a hot wave of arousal through my entire body, culminating between my legs with a dull ache. We closed our distance, Ranger crushing my body against his. I tipped my head upward, capturing his lips greedily. Ranger returned my eagerness tenfold, his tongue darting into my mouth and setting my blood on fire. The tension of the last few days slowly ebbed as I surrendered myself to the passion.

The backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed, Ranger controlling my descent with an arm wrapped tightly around my waist. As soon as my back sunk into the mattress, he slipped my jeans off in one swift motion. His eyes swept up my bare legs, a predatory smile curling his lips as he focused on my black cotton underwear. Like everything purchased by Ella, the word 'Rangeman' had been stitched into the fabric.

"I like my name on you," he remarked as he leaned over, brushing a kiss against the inside of my right knee. His mouth worked northward, my breathing becoming more and more erratic with each agonizing inch, until finally he kissed my sex through the fabric. I moaned, my fists pulling at the comforter beneath me.

"Is this what you were thinking about?" he asked, gazing up at me.

I felt myself flush again as I nodded, earning a smile from Ranger. Dragging the cotton aside, his lips felt like fire against my flesh. My gasp filled the silence as his tongue circled me, sending tingling vibrations through my core. He pulled away, ripping my panties down my legs before returning his mouth between my legs. I writhed against the comforter as his course of sucking, licking, and gentle nipping overwhelmed my senses. With a euphoric cry, my world came undone at the seams for a few heavenly seconds.

Panting, I tried to collect myself as Ranger pulled away. He shot me a glance that simmered with unbridled arousal. I moved to pull my shirt off, expecting our encounter to continue, but he stopped me. I gave him a questioning look as he handed me back my panties and jeans.

"The closest neighbor is ten acres away," Ranger remarked. "That's why this is a perfect safe house. Excellent privacy." He tossed something onto the bed and I glimpsed the fob for my truck.

My mouth formed an 'O' as I finally grasped his meaning.

"Time to pay up, Babe," he growled.

* * *

"What do you mean, I'm not getting a cut of Fortecelli's bond?" I yelled at Vinnie, who's head hung around the doorframe of his office.

"You didn't bring him in," Vinnie shot back.

My mouth dropped open. "If it weren't for me, the cops never would have known to dredge the river to find him!" It had taken a few days of dredging before the body turned up, then another week for the ME to make a positive identification. But Vinnie would get his bond back, now that Fortecelli was legally declared dead.

"That was just luck."

My vision went red. I needed my cut of Fortecelli's bond to refurnish my apartment. Whenever they finally left me move back in. Last update from Dillion didn't make it sound like repairs were keeping to schedule.

"I suppose it was also just luck that I saw you on Stark Street yesterday, striking a bargain for your lunch meeting," I returned. Yanking my cell phone free of my purse, I pretended to push a few buttons. "Got some really clear photos…"

Vinnie paled. I hadn't actually been anywhere near Stark Street yesterday, but Vinnie didn't know that.

"Fine. Fine. Connie, cut her a check." Vinnie's door slammed, so I took it to mean conversation over.

Connie grinned as she wrote out the check. "Nice bluff," she mouthed at me as she handed me my due.

Pocketing the check, I drove back to Rangeman. Feeling incredibly happy after my pay day, I breezed through the door into Ranger's apartment, calling out playfully, "Honey, I'm home."

Ranger emerged from the kitchen, a delicious aroma following him. He pulled me against him and laid a blistering kiss on my lips. "I know you were teasing, but I do like hearing you call this place home."

I sighed, worried this line of thought would lead to an encore of our discussion from the night before. Ranger had asked me to consider dropping the lease for my apartment and living with him on a permanent basis. I'd flatly refused. The ensuing conversation just barely avoided crossing the line into an argument. Dodging the topic, I instead asked, "What did Ella bring for dinner? It smells delicious."

"Ella has the night off," Ranger reminded me.

"Takeout?" I asked. No takeout I'd ever eaten smelled this good.

Ranger shook his head before replying, "Fricasé de pollo. Though it's not as good as my mother's."

"You cooked?" I asked, jaw dropping.

"You can cross it off your bucket list now," he replied dryly.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You aren't trying to bribe me into living here, are you?"

Ranger laughed. "Always so distrustful. No, I'm not trying to bribe you. This may be a one time event," he warned. "Once I'm cleared to go off these light duty work hours, I won't have time to cook, even if I did want to."

I helped set the table and Ranger carried out a large earthen bowl filled with a Cuban chicken stew.

I took my first bite and gazed at Ranger incredulously. "Is there nothing you aren't great at?" The food tasted as delicious as it smelled. I couldn't imagine his mother's being better.

"Apparently, convincing you to live with me," he returned darkly.

I rolled my eyes. "Please, don't take it personally. I just…I need to feel independent."

"You don't feel independent here?"

For the second time in a few seconds, I sent him a disbelieving look. "I feel like a kept woman here," I returned honestly. How could he not see that?

"A kept woman?" A frown tugged at his lips. "That's really how you feel?"

"A little," I confessed. "For me, desperation breeds motivation. If I don't bring in skips, I'll go hungry, get my electricity turned off, and maybe get evicted. But here…well, Ella feeds me, and you're not going to evict me."

Ranger shook his head slightly, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I certainly don't want to stand between you and your independence."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So no more discussion about me living with you?"

He nodded and we went back to eating, though a nagging sensation remained that we weren't truly done with discussing my living arrangements. When we finished, I volunteered to do the dishes. As I placed the last plate into the dishwasher, I heard someone knock on Ranger's door. Quiet conversation hummed from the entrance way.

"Babe, can you come here?" Ranger called from the foyer.

Drying my hands on a dishtowel, I stepped out of the kitchen, curious as to the nature of the intrusion. Usually Tank called Ranger if something went down involving Rangeman. Instead of Tank, I stopped dead as I glimpsed the female employee who had led me to jump to wild conclusions last week.

"Steph, this is Sam," Ranger introduced. "She needs your assistance with a job she has tonight."

"My assistance?" I stuttered.

Sam nodded emphatically. "I'm supposed to try to cozy up to a sleaze ball we suspect is embezzling money from his father-in-law's business. When I asked Tank what I should wear to the bar, he told me to aim for bimbo."

"It's not Vinnie, is it?" I asked Ranger alarmedly.

"Vinnie?" Sam repeated back.

Ranger bit back a smile. "Believe it or not, Babe, Vinnie isn't the only sleaze ball in Jersey swindling his in-laws."

"Okay, but I'm still not sure why you need my help," I told Sam. "Sounds pretty straight forward to me."

Sam sighed. "I'm not exactly well versed in the feminine arts. I'm more comfortable in army fatigues than a dress. I can do sexy, but when you start throwing around words like bimbo, I'm in over my head. Is that like a slut? Or more a prostitute? Tank said you could probably explain it to me better than him."

I wasn't sure if I should take that as a compliment or not. "You're not from Jersey, are you?"

Sam shook her head. "Is it that obvious?"

"Okay, what clothes do you have to work with?" I asked.

Sam hefted a large, paper Macy's bag into my arms. I peeked inside and immediately saw several promising articles of clothing. Sam might not be as hopeless as she thought. I carried the bag into Ranger's living room and began sorting through it, laying out various outfit combinations on the floor.

"I'm really sorry about last week," Sam said softly as she watched me work. "I know it's my fault you and Ranger got ambushed."

I shifted uncomfortably. "There's nothing to apologize for. The misunderstanding was entirely my fault." I surveyed the four outfits I had laid out on the floor. "So, a bimbo is a lot more than just clothes," I explained. "Sure, a bimbo dresses provocatively, but it's also an attitude. Imagine a valley girl with a Jersey accent. Not much going on between the ears."

"But not a prostitute?" Sam asked.

"No. A bimbo isn't looking for money for services. But she's looking for bragging rights, so a man's wealth would certainly attract her. Which bar are they sending you to?"

As Sam answered, I pointed to one of the outfits. "Go put that on. Then I'll help you with your makeup."

"Makeup?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Yep. Another hallmark of a bimbo is excessive makeup."

Sam disappeared into Ranger's guest bathroom with her assigned outfit while I folded the remaining clothes. Once Sam emerged, pulling awkwardly at her mini skirt, I showed her how to apply thick globs of eye liner, mascara, and eye shadow before handing her a curler for her long blonde hair.

"Twirl your hair around your finger when you talk," I instructed, giving her a final once over. "And try not to use words over two syllables. If he thinks you're faking the dumb thing, you're going to tip him off."

"I'm so nervous," Sam confessed. "I wish you were going to be the one talking in my ear tonight. I'm not sure how much help Tank is going to be."

"You'll be fine," I assured her, though I didn't necessarily believe it myself.

I sighed as I shut the door behind Sam, leaning against it heavily. Ranger gave me an amused look from his spot on the sofa where he'd been studiously ignoring us in favor of his laptop.

"You found that funny?" I sniped. "She's your employee. If she blows it tonight, I don't want any of the blame."

"I found that entertaining, but also illuminating," Ranger replied.

I raised my eyebrows in his direction.

Ranger waved me over. "I want to show you something."

I sank into the couch next to him and he angled his laptop so I could see it easier. A logo blazed across the screen. "Rangewoman," I read. The lettering appeared identical in size and style to the Rangeman logo, except that the letters in Rangewoman were purple. "Very clever name. How did you ever think of it?"

Ranger nudged me gently for my sass. "It's occurred to me that I might be losing potential customers, especially among females, who may feel intimidated by my all male workforce."

After experiencing a guy with a tear drop tattoo sent to install security features at my apartment, I agreed with his assessment. "Your guys intimidating? Never." I jumped away before Ranger could elbow me again.

"I've decided to create a new division, staffed by women, that caters to those clients," Ranger explained. "Rangewoman seemed the obvious choice in name."

I had to admit, the idea held great potential. Ranger often put me on jobs that required a female touch, even asking me to walk through homes to determine the types of security systems a woman would find most appealing. "So I guess that means I need to prepare myself for walking in on you feeling up more female employees?"

Ranger shook his head. "I promise you, that will not happen again. Besides, I plan to hire a woman to oversee Rangewoman, so she'd get the pleasure of wiring up her employees."

"Have anyone in mind?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied, giving me a serious look.

It took a few seconds for me to catch his meaning. "What? Me? Are you insane?"

"No, you're the logical choice. You've worked for me on plenty of occasions performing the exact services Rangewoman will offer."

"I don't know how to run a division of a company! I can barely handle being a bounty hunter."

"Steph, you just taught Sam how to play the part of a bimbo in half an hour."

"That's different. That was just me imparting natural skills."

Ranger rolled his eyes. "Babe, that's exactly what I'm looking for in the person to run Rangewoman."

"You can't…really…seriously?" Words seemed to fail me.

Ranger laughed. "Yes, I'm serious. It'll be a few more months before Rangewoman is ready to launch, anyway. Just think about the offer, okay?"

I narrowed my eyes at him as a new thought popped into my head. "Wait, this isn't a pity offer, is it? I told you at dinner I needed to feel independent, so you're offering me a job in hopes it means I won't move out?"

Ranger closed his eyes, a look of exasperation passing across his features. "Trust, Babe. I wish you'd trust me."

"I do!" I protested, but he silenced me with a finger to my lips.

"Then why do you think I must have an ulterior motive to offer you the Rangewoman position?"

"Because I bumble my way through life. I'm not an asset to a business. I'm a liability."

"Babe." Ranger pushed his laptop onto the table and took my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I wish you could see your own value, the way I do."

"Ranger, your men bet on how I'll destroy my next vehicle. That's not someone you want running half your company."

"Yet not a single one of them ever question me when I bring you in on a job," he replied. I figured now was not a good time to point out that was probably because he intimidated the hell out of them, even Tank. "You look at the world in a different way, Babe. A way that leaves me in awe, which is why I've asked you to do jobs for Rangeman time and time again. You thought to look for baking pans in Fortecelli's apartment. I never would have thought to do that. And then you raised the theory that Cookie might be his girlfriend."

"But I was wrong about that…"

"So? I'm wrong about lots of things, Babe. You still thought outside the box. You're exactly the type of person I want running half my business."

"If I accept," I stated tentatively, "I'm still moving back into my apartment."

"I'm not asking you not to."

I sighed. "Okay, I'll think about the Rangewoman position," I promised.


	32. Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

I sank into my new couch, wiggling around in an unsuccessful attempt to find a comfortable spot. No matter how hard I tried, the furniture I'd picked out still didn't feel like mine. The odor of fresh paint permeated the space, even a week after I'd moved back in. I hoped that with time, the space would return to feeling like home, but deep inside I worried that my two months spent living with Ranger had shifted my allegiance. What if his place never stopped feeling like home? That would be one bitter piece of humble pie, after my insistence that I needed to move out to feel independent.

Resigning myself to the fact this sofa would never feel as comfortable as Ranger's, I flipped open the manila folder on my new coffee table. Inside were stacks of resumes for the recently posted Rangewoman positions. I'd promised Ranger I would have a narrowed down list of women to bring in for interviews when he returned from his business trip tomorrow. It still seemed surreal to consider myself running half of Ranger's company. After so many years, the idea of a steady paycheck seemed even stranger. It also meant my days as a bounty hunter were numbered. Even though Ranger insisted I could keep tracking skips on the side, I knew that once I jumped into my Rangewoman duties, I'd have no need, and no desire, to continue rolling in garbage and getting shot at.

I also knew it was only a matter of time before I caved and moved back in with Ranger permanently. At least my role in Rangewoman made me feel like I had some skin in the game, something to contribute in exchange for my posh living arrangements. Though, I remained determined to hold out as long as possible, for the sheer principle of it.

My phone rang, the screen lighting up to reveal my mother's number.

"Hi Mom," I answered, putting the phone on speaker so I could keep perusing the resumes.

"Stephanie, have you heard?"

I knew she was being vague on purpose, so I'd have to ask, "Heard what?"

"Joseph Morelli is dating Ashley Hampton!"

I sensed my mother expected some great reaction from me. Well, she wasn't going to get one. "Umm, okay."

A sigh came over the line. "Stephanie, this has gone far enough. You need to patch things up with Joseph, before he gives up on you forever."

"Mom, I am dating Ranger! And that is that. I'm glad Morelli is moving on. He deserves to be happy." I knew Ashley Hampton. She was a year behind me in school, and last I'd heard, she'd divorced her cheating husband and re-started her life as a single mother of two. She had a respectable job at the Trenton Bank. From what I recalled of her, she seemed nice. And exactly what Morelli always wanted me to be.

Consternation oozed through the connection. "Stephanie, for goodness sake, do you really want a man who goes by just Ranger to be the father of your children?"

"I think, what you meant to say is, you don't want the father of your future grandchildren to be a man who goes by Ranger. It doesn't bother me in the least." Especially since there would likely be no children, but my mother didn't know that. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm dating a good man who served his country and runs a successful business. I'm proud of him. I don't understand why you can't accept that."

"Don't forget incredibly sexy," a voice said from behind me. I yelped, jumping to my feet. Ranger stood at the entrance to the living room, an amused half smile on his lips.

"What was that?" my mother asked.

"Ummm, nothing," I lied. "Gotta go. Bye." I ended the call, spinning to face Ranger. "Would it kill you to knock?"

Ranger's half smile grew as he walked over to me. "We're going to have to do something about your new door, Babe. It's only got one deadbolt."

"Would more have forced you to knock?" I asked dryly.

"No," he grinned. "But it would stop most others."

I shook my head. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't getting back from Miami until tomorrow night?"

"Business concluded a day early," he replied, leaning in to give me a quick kiss. "So I thought I'd surprise you with your apartment warming gift. It's in the kitchen."

Curious, I walked into my unrecognizable kitchen. The modern appliances, cabinets, and faux marble counters didn't seem right for the space. Even Rex looked out of place in his customary spot. Again, I suspected that was because I'd grown too used to his position on Ranger's kitchen counter. Looking around the kitchen, I immediately spotted the new addition. A large ceramic cookie jar sat in the same space occupied by its predecessor.

I laughed, picking the jar up to better examine it. "This feels too heavy," I remarked. "I don't suppose you filled it with cookies for me?"

"Those you need to supply yourself," Ranger replied with half a smile, his arm snaking around my waist as I pulled off the lid of the jar. "I told you I'd get you a new one," he added as I extracted a silver, five shot Smith and Wesson .45 revolver, identical to the one melted in the fire.

I grinned at him as I spun the barrel, devoid of bullets. Carefully placing the gun on the counter, I reached back into the cookie jar and retrieved the box of bullets. That explained why the jar weighed so much. I loaded the gun under Ranger's attentive eye, but he stopped me as I moved to put it back into the cookie jar.

"There's one more thing in there," he advised softly.

Raising my eyebrows at him, I reached into the jar. At the very bottom, my fingers closed around a small smooth box. I pulled it out, giving it a curious look. Rich dark wood comprised the square box, with mother of pearl inlay forming tight clumps of blossoms in the lid.

"It's beautiful," I told Ranger. "But I don't understand. You gave me earrings for Valentine's Day. What's this for?"

Ranger took the box from my fingers, carefully removing the lid. Gasping, I stepped back, as if he'd revealed a venomous spider instead of a beautiful silver ring with a square diamond mounted amongst delicate filigree. I grabbed for the counter to steady myself, my eyes darting to Ranger's face in confusion.

"If I get down on one knee, do I need to worry about you fainting?" he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

Pinching myself, I ascertained this wasn't a dream. "You can't be serious?" I finally managed to squeak.

"Babe, you should know me better than that by now," he replied.

Omigod, he really was serious. "Are you sure?" I asked instead, still clutching the counter for dear life.

"I thought we got past the trust issues," he said with a laugh. At least he seemed to find my reaction amusing, rather than offensive. "Trust me, I'm sure. This was my grandmother's ring. She fled Cuba with it hidden in this box, wrapped in rags. You're the only woman I've ever wanted to give it to, and also the only woman worthy of wearing it." Ranger closed the distance between us, resting his forehead against mine. "Now, will you let me propose?"

Without much conscious thought guiding me, I felt my head nod. Fluidly, Ranger sank to one knee and the air caught in my throat. It took a few tries before I remembered how to inhale. A force stronger than gravity held my eyes to his.

"Steph, I want to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life. And however long that life is, I want to know I walked through it with you by my side. I might have regrets at the end, but I don't want that regret to be life without you. Marry me?"

Something wet slid down my face and only then did I realize I was crying. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I croaked, "Yes." Forcing each finger to release the edge of the counter, I presented my very shaky left hand to Ranger. With a thousand kilowatt smile, he plucked the ring from the box and slid it onto my finger. It fit perfectly. Then he slid it back off.

"Just making sure it won't get stuck," he explained, tone teasing, before pushing it back over my knuckle and into place. "Though, I hope I never give you a reason to want to take it off," he added seriously.

I turned my hand, the ring glittering in the light from overhead. I shot Ranger a crooked smile as he rose, his hands circling my waist as I continued to admire the engagement ring. "I don't know. I think I might have liked the style of the Walmart one better."

A playful light filled Ranger's eyes. "I'm sorry you're disappointed," he told me, pulling me against his chest. "I guess I'll just have to buy your wedding band from Walmart."

"I suppose that will make up for it," I returned, struggling not to laugh. A giggle escaped just as Ranger crushed his lips to mine. The temperature in the room shot up several notches.

"Do you know the only thing I like more than seeing you wearing this ring?" he asked huskily, pulling away so we could both catch our breaths.

I shook my head.

"Seeing you wearing only this ring," he growled, eyes growing darker by the second.

I shrieked as he swept me up into his arms and carried me into the bedroom.

* * *

My engagement ring sparkled in the early morning light. Talk about bizarre. I looked over at Ranger sleeping peacefully beside me. Being engaged to Ranger felt even more bizarre. My brain still struggled with that concept, which was why I found myself awake before Ranger for once. As quietly as I could, I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. After freshening up, I wandered into my kitchen and studied the new coffee maker. Once I'd figured out how to get it to brew, I fed Rex then leaned against the counter to wait for my first cup of caffeinated goodness. My apartment seemed more like home this morning, but I highly suspected that had to do with the man sleeping in my bed.

Carrying a steaming mug of coffee, I settled onto the sofa. It still felt off. I flipped open my laptop and somehow found myself browsing Vegas wedding chapels.

"Thinking of eloping?"

I jumped, my heart rate spiking at Ranger's abrupt entrance. "Jeez. Make some noise, would ya? It's my apartment, not an enemy stronghold."

Ranger went into the kitchen and soon returned with his own mug of coffee before settling down next to me. "Thinking of eloping?" he asked again.

"Maybe," I replied with a noncommittal shrug. "I don't really want to do the big expensive wedding thing again. Unless…you do?" I'd never stopped to consider what Ranger might like. With a sudden surge of nerves, I worried he might want to see me walk down a long aisle in a fancy white gown. Or worse, get married with a priest, and mass and communion, and the whole to-do.

"I'm not exactly one for a huge spectacle," he replied and I breathed a sigh of relief. "Babe, I don't care if we walk into city hall one day and say our vows in front of the justice of the peace. Just as long as I get to marry you."

"I thought marriage was just a piece of paper," I teased, throwing his words from Miami back at him.

"It is," he agreed. "And everyone gets the same piece of paper whether they spend ten thousand dollars or ten getting married. But I need that piece of paper to officially introduce you to people as my wife, and that is a title I very much want to use."

"A trip to Vegas might be a little more than ten dollars," I said slowly.

"If you want to run off and get married in Vegas, Babe, I'll take you to Vegas. I'm just happy you don't want to drag me through an entire mass at St. Boniface."

I laughed. "Me too," I agreed. "So, Vegas?"

Ranger nodded. "Whenever you want," he raised my left hand to his lips, kissing the ring gently.

I scrolled through one of the chapel's websites. They did weddings on the hour, offering online bookings. "They have an opening at three," I joked.

Ranger pulled out his phone. "There aren't any flights out to Vegas until this afternoon," he informed me.

"Tomorrow at four?" I jested, finding the next available booking.

"Just give me the word and I'll buy the plane tickets."

"Wait, we're not seriously considering doing this, are we? My mother would kill me."

Ranger grinned at me. "And since when has that stopped you from doing anything? Besides," he scrolled farther down the page on my laptop, "they stream the ceremonies online and record them. Everyone could watch from home."

"My mother would most definitely kill me for that."

"Makes it that much more appealing, doesn't it?"

I laughed because he was right. I could just imagine the fit of ironing that would overtake my mother if she learned I'd run off to Vegas to marry Ranger and sent her a link to watch it. "Let's do it."

Ranger gave me a once over. "You're sure?"

"Yes," I replied, growing more confident by the second. A drawn out engagement would likely just lead to me getting cold feet, and too much intervention by my mother. Ranger and I were going to do this our way, regardless of the hell I'd have to pay when we got home. "But are you sure?" I asked him. "I mean, I know you want to marry me. But you're okay with eloping? Do you want your family there? Your mom?"

"Babe, my family will understand. And I think my mother will be pleased just knowing I'm married, no matter how."

I laughed. "It's about time you stopped thinking about work, work, work and settled down."

Ranger rolled his eyes. "She's going to take a lot of the credit for this," he admitted with a chuckle.

"She did end up being rather prophetic," I agreed. When Ranger shot me a questioning look, I continued. "The night she invited me over for dinner, while we were doing the dishes, she asked me not to give up on you. Told me that you wanted me in your life, but you were only now realizing it."

"And that's what she asked you to remember when she said good-bye to you," he finished.

I nodded. "I'll understand if you want her there to witness the product of her meddling," I said with a laugh. "We can do something small, with family. I'll get a white dress."

"No, I want to elope," he still insisted, but I sensed he held something back.

"The truth," I demanded.

He gave me a half smile. "I have to admit, I like the idea of peeling you out of a white dress on our wedding night."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he did. "It's going to be hard to get a dress before our flight leaves."

"Impossible?" he asked.

I sighed. "Connie has a cousin in Newark who owns a bridal shop."

Ranger pulled out his wallet and handed me a black credit card. "Get whatever dress you want. I'll book our flight."

I looked down at my computer screen, mouse hovering over the "book now" button for the four PM wedding tomorrow. I've completely lost my mind, I thought, as I clicked it.

* * *

"You look beautiful, my dear," remarked Maggie, the older woman who co-owned the wedding chapel. She fluffed out the short lacy train behind me as I gazed in awe at my reflection in the full-length floor mirror. Connie, Mary Lou, and Lula had all rushed to my side yesterday. Connie's cousin pulled all kinds of strings, selling me a dress off the floor and doing the minor alterations needed right then and there. The gown fit perfectly. From scalloped strapless neckline and slightly flared skirt, to corseted back that would allow Ranger to practically unwrap me like a present, white lace hugged me like a glove.

Maggie fitted the shoulder length veil over my simple up do and I finally accepted reality. In a few minutes, I would marry Ranger. My breaths immediately began to accelerate.

"Don't be nervous," Maggie offered with a wrinkled smile. "I've seen a lot of couples come through here. Not many look at each other the way you two do. Shall I go tell them you're ready?"

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. Maggie slipped out the door, leaving me alone in the small dressing room at the back of the chapel. Plucking my cell phone out of my purse, I opened Facebook on the browser. Quickly, I typed out a post: **It's for real this time** and copied the link to the chapel's streaming webcam. Finally, I updated my relationship status to married.

Just in case the Burg rumor mill failed to carry the news to my mother in time for her to watch, Mary Lou should already be on her doorstep. It was a testament to our friendship that she'd volunteered for that mission. I knew I might suffer the loss of pineapple upside-down cake for the rest of my life for this, but Ranger was more than worth it.

I pressed the power button, shutting down my phone before the first call from my mother could come through. I'd already changed my voice mail to say, "Relax Mom. Ranger makes me happy. Call you when I get home."

Dropping the phone back into my purse, I ran my hands along the silky lace as the first chords of Wagner's Bridal Chorus rang out. Maggie opened the door. "That's your cue, my dear."

I stepped out into the small chapel, gripping a simple bouquet of white roses for dear life. Just a couple rows of pews stood on either side of the short aisle. Ranger looked up as I appeared, sexy as hell in a black tux. He smiled, his face practically glowing, and all my nerves evaporated. I met his gaze as my feet moved toward him of their own accord. Just like gravity, I didn't stop to question the attraction. A law of nature, bringing me exactly where I was meant to be.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Hot and Bothered. If you did, please consider liking or following my author's page on Facebook for news and updates on my road to publishing my original romantic suspense novel. I promise it's just as exciting, smutty, and dramatic as Hot and Bothered, and even features a Latino Adonis of my own creation. https://www.facebook.com/celestestraubauthor/


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